Every Thing That Happens From Now On
by trudes193
Summary: This is an AU Red Eye fan fiction of the movie. A bitter sweet marriage, entangled in lies, deceit, secrets, and heartbreak. Will they and their family be able to recover and grow stronger, from one devastating night of corruption, danger, and betrayal that lies ahead, or will this tear them and their family further apart?
1. This is pouring rain, this is paralyzed

**Authors note: **This is my very first fan fiction, so I am very sorry if this sounds like an 11 year has written it I have dyslexia, which makes it hard to write what is in my head into written word.

The title is from the song by Bon Iver Re: Stacks

I've been wanting to post this for ages, have been too scared to because I keep thinking that is isn't as good as those you have all written, which inspired me to write my own. I also want to dedicate this to several writers which have inspired me as well. All your stories are brilliant furthermore absolutely amazingly written, and I wish I were as good as you were.

So here, we go, this idea came to me from a good friend of mine, and from my little cousins are the inspirations of their children. This is an AU version of Red Eye whereby Jackson and Lisa are married with children, it has lots of twists and turns and people may not seem to be who they claim they are it is quite upsetting at times and does have some dark themes and some sexual and mature themes in later chapters.

I hope you enjoy my story, as all comments are always very much appreciated. I know I am not the greatest writer in the world, many complexities, and my story is far too detailed, and the chapters are far too long. I find writing is good therapy for me, as it is allowing me to let out many deep-rooted feelings I have, and cannot express publicly myself.

Before I forget, I do not own anything, apart from my OC's.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Red Eye:<strong> **Everything that happens is from now on**

**Chapter 1: ****This** **is pouring rain, and this is paralyzed**

In the back sitting in worn leather seat of a dimly lit taxi, in the company of shadows dancing across his features obscuring most of him. Be situated a long dark haired man, still when the cab finally passes a lighted area you notice it's neatly combed, Jackson Rippner a man that likes to look his best. With piercing blue eyes, that in the darkness seem to shine brightly like a 3 million candle torch, around his jaw the makings of 2 day stubble, he is dressed smartly and immaculately in a dark blue tailored well-cut suit, Crisp sea green button-up shirt with the top button undone so you can see a white undershirt accompanies it. Which he looks very comfortable in, almost as if it's similar to a second skin to him, however it does give him an additional casual elegance and really enhance to his exquisitely handsomeness, he looks to be in his early thirties. You get the impression from him, that his some kind of businessperson or CEO, that by his intense presence in everything he does, it makes him own any room or situation he enters.

With him, also masked somewhat by the dim lighting is Lisa a beautiful, stunning petite woman in such a way that the man, she is laying against could not help but admire with an elegance about her that requires respect. She has shoulder length thick auburn hair; her facial features are delicate and quite feminine, and clear skin, dotted by the occasional beauty mark, and a full mouth. Wearing a just barely visible exquisitely graceful light pink silk top, with a blue flowing skirt that stops above her knees to show long slender lean legs, and matching dark blue jacket covering it, the style is impeccably simple, yet classy. She is thin, but not rail thin as is the trend of the day, appearing to be quite fit and athletic, she is naturally beautiful and she does not need to cake on a thousand pounds of Revlon to be attractive. They are holding hands with their fingers intertwined, moreover both of them are looking exhausted and drained.

Lisa's head is lying comfortably, against the man's sea green shirted chest her eyes closed while her breathing is nice and easy, she nuzzles her head into his chest, pressing her forehead to the side of his chest cling onto him with her arm around his waist and the curves of his body. Through their nearness she is able to feel his warmth and smell the aroma of the expensive and elusive aftershave he's wearing and his natural raw organic smell mingle like an effortless aura he possesses that is merely for her. His personification that she would like to savor and encapsulate the emotions and feelings, it gives her, of him as if she'd yearns for it so much, in spite of that at the same time, in some strange way, she is also afraid of this too. However, thinking is undyingly a forbidden occurrence this early in the morning, and she is more than contented at the moment with herself, in the midst of the warmth, her head resting comfortably and cushioned against his chest, while his arm draped heavily over her side listening to the air filling in his lungs as he breathes.

Her light breath tickles the skin of his chest, even through the shirt, which coincidently feels as though it is too thin now, excessively too thin, and she can feel herself making those happy little noises, even as she feels as though she could stay there forever, being hugged by this man beside her. At the same time, her left breast is softly pressing aligned with his ribs, whilst her left thigh is touching his right thigh, along with their hips causing abrasion in contrast to the material both of them are wearing like the gentlest of electrical currents passing between her body and his. At this moment, they give the impression of being contented with this level of physical contact that is a completely acceptable act, which does not have to comprise of any sexual suggestion to it at all, they are merely just seeking comfort, warmth, and security from their closeness to each other.

When some loose strands of her hair have fallen ungracefully across her right cheek when she moves her head slightly, concealing her closed eyes, and she sighs somewhat in contentment, drifting into a peaceful light doze, not even bothering with the loose hairs tickling her cheek. Furthermore, her right hand unconsciously slides up to his chest, and with her small nimble fingers, she strokes him, absentmindedly drawing small circles there as they follow the wrinkles of his shirt, and she can sense how hot his skin is, how lean, defined, and fine-toned the muscles are in the side of his torso. While her fingers, with an affectionate, expressive, finely tuned delicacy, and the dexterously of someone who is on familiar terms with the body competently, examining the composition of his muscles.

Watching his wife with drowsy eyes, Jackson places a small but gentle kiss on her forehead, longing that he could fall asleep with her; while letting the fine coarse coppery hairs of the stubble on his chin, scrape against her delicate scalp. At the same time, her thick, tangle of curls pleasantly are, lightly tickling his nose as he breathes in the flowery fragrance of her shampoo that is also causing his nose to itch in the midst of her hair. He wants to forget everything, trying so desperately to stop his mind from drifting as she touches each of his sensitive spots, causing the familiar, but destabilizing and delicious affects of physical and emotional memories and thoughts of her, which produces both pleasure and pain.

He mutters into her hair in a soft, reassuring, and comforting way while letting his soft lips brush against the strands as they dance elegantly across her hair, whispering in a soothing tone as though he is effortlessly, consoling a small sleeping child in the midst of a dream. Instead, he is whispering sweet nothings, while he attentively reaches out, and with his free pale and lean, but at the same time strong hand without thinking and together with a slight intake of breath. Once again, glancing at his expensive platinum Rolex wristwatch, that is real and definitely not a fake or a knockoff purchased on a street corner. Illuminating dazzlingly in the dark, where it is now exposed a little from its hiding place under the cuff of his blue suit jacket, counting down every precious minutes they have like this. The smooth metal of his silver wedding band shining brightly in the synthetic amber glow of darkness from the streetlights, dotted along the street a small but significant symbol of their unity. Faintly, delicately, and tenderly, in the company of a small but perfectly placed affectionate smile as well as a tender lover's touch, he brushes the loose soft golden-brown strands away from her face to tuck the auburn strand of her hair behind her ear gently letting him see her face once more. At that moment, he moves his head to the side slightly, it causes his dark brown fringe to fall into his eyes, hiding his intense eyes, and causing a small tickle upon his cheeks, however he ignores it and carries on enjoying the ambiance his caress generates in him touching her within the indistinguishable manner in return.

He suddenly shifts his crystalline eyes and steals a glance at the cabs window just beside them, watching their dim reflection in the glass, even as rain is hammering hard against it. To anyone looking inside in, they look like an ordinary young couple, holding hands, cuddling each other, just on their way back to home from a weekend break, much like the couples you see in movies, and that can be said in some ways. From the look in his eyes, you can notice how there is definitely chemistry, undying affection between them, but all is not perfect, and also there seems to be some tension and a certain amount of underlying sadness too between the two of them. However, they are far from ordinary, neither one of them know how tonight is going to change their lives forever.

When the fingers of his other hand, that were resting on her upper arm lightly trails down the curve of her face, sliding with care down her arm, stroking her arm soothingly. She tenses a little and recoils her breathing hitching a bit as well as her face looks troubled, before shrugging him away as if in fright trying to pull her other hand out of his grip. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, before he drops it softly to his side carefully making sure it is not near her enough to scare her. Afterwards though, when the moment of freezing panic passes, she appears to start subtly relax against him again enjoying the warmth of his chest, he feels as though his heart aches so much, it feels as though it is going to split in two any minute in the overwhelming desire and sorrow, that seeing her like this does to him. He then reaches up again; he manages to continue where he left off. Even while he is watching her with sorrowful, despondent, and haunting eyes, taking in her now returned easy breathing, and he yawns quietly as he is exhausted himself. At that moment she simultaneously does too, and shifts closer to him like a child's comforting Teddy bear, or a blanky, demonstrating just how obviously weary and emotionally drained they are both from the day's events.

The driver a man who was a lively perpetually chatty black guy when they first entered the cab, with a shaved head, medium build, and without doubt has a gun under his seat. Is now unquestionably in necessitate of stress management skills and appears to be 10 second from an absolute WMD chemical meltdown, simply easier to find than the real things that the government obviously knew were hiding. So lock on target, and hold your positions, this could blow any second. He is frustrated, exasperated and keeps yelling at the other drivers who are cutting him up as he speeds up, attempting to get to the airport on time, when the couple only has 10 minutes until check in. The background noise of the windscreen wipers set to maximum is not helping the matter, and they are still laboring to clear the deluge from his vision, sounding more like a squeegee rather than their intended use, making a horrendous squeaking noise, as the rubber of wiper passes across the window.

Jackson is, sitting in the back of the cab and still holding a dozing Lisa in his arms, furrowing his brow, giving the impression he is aggravated along with the small but noticeable tremor in the muscle of his left cheek and he squeezes the woman's hand to stop himself. Wanting so badly to holler at the driver, for being of no use and quite frankly is getting on his last nerve. So instead, he keeps a stoic professional mask on his face, and glares at him up at the rearview mirror from time to time letting his eyes say it all, as he's briefly imagining the best way to kill him. Dangling and swinging as if it is a metronome, indicating the tempo and aural of the man's outburst from the windscreen mirror, hangs a cheap plastic imitation gold cross, decorated with cheap looking beads. This rather seems ironic why he has it there, since his screaming profanities left right and centre. When he is just about to give him another one of his famous death stares, barely at that moment, his cell phone starts to vibrate softly against his hip much to his surprise.

Without looking, and still staring sharp daggers at the drivers head, letting his intense blue eyes do all the work in a state of quiet, seething frustration, his hand unhooks it carefully from the expensive Italian black leather belt it's attached to. Flipping it open in one effortless practiced flick of his thumb, he checks the flashing I.D, rolling his eyes when he brings the phone up to his face remembering what he told them "_I told you not to call me before-"_. Before he answers and lets out an exasperated sigh_…never mind_, he reasons knowing he isn't expecting any calls at the moment, seeing that he's too tired and has far more important things to worry about, like the woman next to him to talk to anyone at the moment. As soon as he answers though, it sounds in the same way as he is dispassionate, but it is simply for the reason that he is tired. Almost immediately, he is reminded of the importance of the call in a few concise words from the voice on the other end of the line, and the uninterested, exhausted, exasperated, and his slightly dissatisfied tone instantly vanishes, and is rapidly replaced with his voice softening and then subtly sighing. He commences, on bombarding the person on the other end of the phone, with specifically articulated questions. The man has clearly deals with these kinds of calls on a regular basis; even listening carefully. He moves his right arm a little, brushing her forehead slightly with the material of his jacket, at the same time as he is talking softly, and then being deft, so not to wake the sleeping woman beside him, he begins to smooth her hair soothingly. Delicately playing with the ends, between his long thin fingers, and he lightly twirls a strand of curl around his index finger while watching her out of his peripheral vision.

Lisa leans into him even closer, enjoying the feeling he is giving her, just from that one action. Nuzzling into his chest, and mumbling incoherently, he can hear some of what she is saying something about shoes being in the toaster, making him smile as he tries to stay on the conversation and not drifting his attention to the woman in his arms while his fingers are still tangled in her hair.

Simultaneously out of the blue Lisa's cell phone rings in her bag, jerking her violently awake with its ferocious vibrating, she stirs opening her big olive limpid eyes, the man next to her being nudged slightly too from the action, and she starts mumbling curses incoherently under her breathe. Her fingers gently brushes his, before running a hand groggily through her disheveled hair slowly, rubbing the sleepiness away, as she thinks of being torn so abruptly from his arms, and suddenly the cab felt cold and uncomfortable again. Even as she's delving down into the depths of her leather bag, her hand passes through everything you'd expect a mother to have and more, but the kitchen sink. When she reaches her hand onto the cold metal can of pepper spray, she automatically picks up the just as cold, cell phone next to it in her palm and almost drops it because of the coldness, from the bottom. Bringing the screen to her eye line, when she looks down, and checks the blue illumination glow flashing, the large, black bold lettering of the I.D, blinking and vibrating with determination infront of her eyes, she finds out it's her father.

She on top of that, when she opens up the phone, notices in a tiny box at the bottom, that there are at least 5 missed calls and she smiles wearily. Slightly aware he's probably ringing updating her like his a rolling news bulletin with things she already knows which are being repeated and each time he does sounding more and more dramatic than the updates really is. On the other hand, she is not expecting an unexpected development, which will interrupt the broadcast and state, whether the terror alert in Florida area, has turned to red or is still ticking along nicely on amber. She then clears that little thought from her mind, and concentrates contemplating on the subject of what she ought to tell him, her mind meaning it a consolation, reminding her that in a little while, they will be getting their normal life back, and decides to go with the almost-truth and after reassuring him, that everything was all right. Even though all she feels, is never-ending grief, however she can tell him everything later, refraining herself from voicing these thoughts, she then unexpectedly feels her thumb pressing the _Talk_ button her heart almost spilling out at the words she wants to say already.

Whilst the man has intuitively moved away slightly, sensing that he needs to give her some space and knowing specifically who is on the other end of the line, but she can even now feel his warmth.

Jackson is still talking on his phone only a little louder now, as the brunette haired woman's deep big green eyes takes fleeting look over at him. He turns too, suddenly feeling her eyes on him, with green eyes, and blue eyes naturally meeting each other in that instinctively possessive way, which occurs when you have been a couple for a extensive amount of time. They mutually in an natural unison exchange, apologetic smiles afterwards both of them look away, carrying on in the midst of their phone conversations, his whole body is still trembling from both her nearness and the warmth she is producing, and he's having trouble keeping his mind on the conversation.

Catching a momentary look over again at her dark haired, blue-eyed husband, her loving friend, lover, and soul mate of 8 years, who from the look of him, has a little smile on his face even though she knows he's pissed with the driver, one of the many smiles she loves from he discusses on the phone, she pretends she is not trying to eavesdrop in on the conversation his having, and only catching one or two that it's either his manager or an associate of his team, and subsequently shifts her gaze once more out of the window and concentrates instead absent-mindedly at the heavy rain pouring with the flickering streetlights, that illuminate the raindrops in an attempt to drop heavily on the windows reflecting the light and looking like teardrops, ones that she would like to shed out her frustrations wholeheartedly thankful that the weather held for this morning, and the downpour along with the freakish storm had only started when they got into the cab, she concentrates on the road trying to pay attention to all too familiar voice you catch her name Lisa.

While her father carries on with his uncompromising talking, and she continues to nod along answering automatically with the standard yes and no replies, whilst lightly chuckling thinks about her father Joe Reisert, the ever-perturbing obsessive protective father, and grandfather, even at the age of 34, and married for 8 years, with three children, he is fretful about her trying his hardest, not to sound too frantic everytime he rings her on the phone. Even though they only live 2 doors down, and visits them every day, he likes to makes a lot of calls…checking in at work and with his adult children and young grandchildren, knowing she is the first on his speed dial. Don't get her wrong, she loves her father, she genuinely does, except he just worries a little too much about them sometimes It's worse now that he is retired, he has more time to worry about her, and she always fears that one day his going to give himself a heart attack. He always worries so much about her, too much in fact, and she never lets him in, she hates his worrying because it makes her seem weak and she refuses to think of herself as weak, as if she is someone for him to be concerned for.

She has always prided in herself and well known for being an independent, strong, practical, patient, no-nonsense, and straight-to-the-point kind of woman, full-time freelance manager, and a mother of 3 wonderful but energetic children. Who is exceedingly good at her job and being a mother, she throws herself into her work enthusiastically, and does not take any shit from anybody well that is unless; of course, these are the offensive, malicious, hypocritical customers with the most idiosyncratic and astonishing requests and complaints you would never believe. At the Lux Atlantic Hotel, an upscale, high-class hotel, that is located, near the waterfront in Miami and has beautiful views of the ocean. Even then, there are limits, she likes to imagine that she can tell them to stick their comments on the comment card and stick them up their asses, except corporate have a different initiative to hers that is tending to their every need and encourage them more.

"Hey dad, how are you and the girls tonight?" She enquires with an enormous smile on her face, which could brighten up the whole east coast. She has missed them the entire weekend whilst they were away, and she has been looking forward to getting back to Miami, along with going to the beach with them.

Once they are off the forthcoming flight, unpacked, rested for all but 5 minutes, and had some coffee and pancakes made by the girls, who are completely covered in the mixture. As she and Jackson have a rare day off, which she knows half of it will be used to clean the kitchen, and their daughters. Her mind then is questioning what the house looks like already, it could be either 2 options a scene from a disaster movie, or one of those documentaries on TV that shows how some people leave their houses and apartments and are in desperate need to be industrially cleaned. That she guesses in this case it is probably a mixture of both. Even as she smiles and asks the obvious and inevitable question, any mother will ask, even if their children are perfect little angels, which cannot be possible.

"They didn't cause you too much trouble did they?" Lisa smiles as she asks the slightly, quiet, chipper voice on the other end of the phone. She knows her husband is listening and he can hear what the voice through the phones saying, because he is also wondering the same question in his mind, and is equally, as eager as her to see them again.

* * *

><p>In the early hours and the warm and humid climes of suburban Miami Florida, Joe Reisert an older man with a craggy face in the company of more frown lines than smile lines, looking as though his in needs of sleep. He stands by a white door, under one of his arms holding a cream woven wooden basket in his arms, and the other holding the plastic block of the phone, he Smiles at the sound of his daughter's voice as he talks to her, causing the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth to become more prominent. Although you cannot be sure as dark brown and whiskers of white facial hair, obstruct them.<p>

"No Sweetie they've been fine." He says with a sigh and a slight laugh with his deep intonation, she continuously asks that question and every time it makes him smile. Of course, when it comes to Lisa Rippner formally known as and will always be a Reisert is a complicated and unusual daughter, mother, and wife, on the contrary she never falters, especially when answering his phone calls.

When he opens the door quietly, letting in some of the harsh glaring hallway light, flood into the relaxed room, and he peeks at his youngest granddaughter hoping he hasn't woken her, that smile on his face grows wider, which additionally includes a look of relief in his eyes. The little girl who is thankfully, still sound asleep curled up in an adorable little ball in her soft and comfortable bed, under the sweet pastel butterfly duvet, her little wrinkled nose and closed eyes barely visible, he knows she is clutching her white bunny, chewing and sucking on her bunny the same time, he can hear her in the quietness and stillness of the room, her little mumblings to herself, so much like her looks similar to a small little baby mouse curled up in straw and other materials and seeking warms during the hibernating months of the blistering cold winter curled up next to her doing the same is a tiny little ginger striped kitten called Marmalade her companion in her own little secret world.

As he carefully places a small gentle kiss on her, soft cheek and caresses her long silky, shiny auburn curls smiling, smelling the sweet mixture of the talc and shampoo combined into a wonderful scent that causes him to reflect back to his daughter at that age.

He wonders if she enjoyed her outing to the park with him and her sisters this afternoon, as it was such a beautiful day outside and she looked so contented playing with her friend quietly, her interactions so careful and caring. He knows she has missed them incredibly this weekend, and probably would preferably want her mommy and daddy right now as a substitute of grandpa. Nevertheless, they will be coming home soon, where she will be playing on the beach with her older sisters and with a bit of luck, helping them saturate daddy in the sea.

The room is painted in a light pastel yellow, the wall with the bed painted with butterflies fluttering in a small group in cream and light pink, while beautifully decorated butterflies suspend from the ceiling are spiraling around their wings flutter causing a slight whooshing sound, and a slight cooling breeze from the window being opened a little. Even as her night light of stars floating across the walls producing a dreamy ambiance, you could describe it as a little girl's dream bedroom. He huskily whispers quietly into the receiver, trying his hardest not to wake the sleeping child occupying the bed. He can practically see Lisa smiling as she spoke, her large emerald eyes lighting up and her smile curling her lipsup. "Their fine honey, their fast asleep at the moment. And I'm fine honey, just pottering around while it's quiet."

He takes a cautious seat on the end of the little girl's bed the duvet providing the soft cushioning his needs for a soft landing, as he is organizing through the laundry and putting the tiny clothing into piles delicately next to him to put away. He is struggling not to pry, not to sound too overly protective and worried, he knows the constant overprotective father thing he has going on has always annoyed her even in high school. Nevertheless, can she actually _blame_ him she is his only daughter after all, and he knows Jackson and her will be the same with their daughters it was only natural. As far as he is concerned, things were never simple; at least not any more, the family has been through so much, they have been emotionally and physically distressed and he just wants to see them happy, but life does not always deal you a full house and let you walk away with the poker chips.

He is still stunned by the amount that she has accomplished at her age, but another part of him is more stunned at how things have turned out for her. Working sometimes-long hours when she is needed, being married for 8 years and a fantastic mother to 3 little girls, which of course limits socializing, and alone time with her husband to enjoy one another's company, and now this.

"Are you both okay?" He asks trying not to sound worried, turning to take another quick peek at his little granddaughter still in her peaceful slumber, before turning his attention back to his little girl. Sure to say, the ever so worried father Joe Reisert has little control over helping his daughter and son in law, but he always continues to hope that one day, their lives will be simple again, as it was before.

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading my first chapter; I hope you enjoyed it so far. Please review, and tell me if it's crap or the characters are a little OOC or whatever you think, because I am definitely not sure myself. I also hope that it doesn't sound like anybody else stories, and if it does I am very sorry I don't mean it to.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Authors note: I would like to thank XxDaAshersxX for being my beta; it was nice of you to ask. In addition, for LovelyLorraine and punctuator who has helped a lot too, JK for reviewing.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Lisa continues to Stare out the window, with a small smile playing on her lips, her eyes are tired heavy lidded, and is absolutely unfocused on the external stimuli, not really paying attention to what is going on outside. Instead, she is just thankful her little girls are all right, and not causing her father a great deal trouble tonight about staying up, and wanting mommy and daddy. She thought they would be wide-awake, making trouble and being over excited making them be too exhausted to go to the beach tomorrow, and naturally ends up glimpses over at Jackson and follows him with her eyes smiling. As he's talking on the cell phone in his standard secret code way, staring out of the window while his short sharp nails are scratching at his 2-day-old stubble, along with his warm familiar chuckle.

Her phone beeps loudly in her ear, and indicates in an annoying aggressive tone, that there's another call on the line, making her wonders who is calling her at this time, only when she looks at the ID she notices it's her worst nightmare. She apologizes to her father sympathetically, and presses the right button that puts him on hold; subsequently she answers the other call cheerfully as its Cynthia, her faithful desk clerk, probably with Selena the new trainee doing her first weekend of nights as lead receptionist. Cynthia can be a little silly, who can be semi-hysterical, and is her best friend from work, puffing as Lisa presumes she and the young trainee are running along the marble flooring in a rush. At the same time as she is asking about the trip, furthermore putting herself into a long-spun tale of run-on sentences and tangents on how the computer system is slow tonight and has had a virus for the last few days, also Selena is having trouble with the Taylors. Flustered as well as unnerved by the obnoxious couple with their usual intimidation, threats to corporate, and endless complaining techniques, that has been perfected over the many years of staying at the hotel, and always getting their own way. Selena as a junior receptionist with so much to learn, has managed to let the panic get to her, and has entered her own password incorrectly three times, then lock Cynthia's usual terminal via the old three-strikes-and-you're-out routine blocking further interaction with the computer until it is acknowledged. Moreover, when Cynthia goes to use the alternate terminal, while they're waiting for Support to unlock the locked terminal affected using a single password that is used for all low security applications, which will require Seleena to re-familiarize herself with the companies password policy. Only the entire system either has suffered a mini-crash or does what many Windows-based, cut-to-fit retail systems are as fond of doing as the result of the execution of single or multiple machine instructions, it should be attempting to offer safe mode while it tries to recover from the error and continue execution instead of crashing. This isn't the case for their system, what usually happens, especially during a rush, or during dealings with the most obnoxious couple ever. The processor decides it is going to do a perfect impersonation of molasses attempting to flow uphill in the dead of winter leading to bugs, universal slow performance, and at worst case, takeovers by viruses and malicious software.

Even as she is hearing this, Lisa rolls her eyes subtly and smiles confidently, no problem is too big, and some of the higher ups were really noticing her uncanny ability to make things happen, she has always had the ability to smile in the face of adversity, and today was no exception. Sometimes she feels that it would be nice to have everyone do things for her, since that is all she did in her profession, being a people-pleaser one of the 'people with special needs' or what Cynthia says 'Why don't all the disgruntle customer's just line up, and kick me like assholes until you're done with your complaint'. She being the one who had to deal with all their bullshit that the whiney over-privileged guests can easily turn into problems and complaints because they feel they have the right to

However, she cannot help but wonder what the crisis is really, she told work not to phone her this weekend unless it is an emergency, which has been completely ignored, and this did not sound like one of those. Okay so she might have forgotten to tell Cynthia and Selena they were checking in today, but she also thought she and her trainee could handle it, it is merely another minor problem. However, this is though Selena's first time doing nights, so what to some would be enough to pull their hair out; to her was purely one more insignificant predicament that could be dealt with. Then she plunges into another long-spun tale of run-on sentences about customers, both of them feeling like headless chickens because of the systems. Explaining how sorry she is for ringing, not to worry about work, and how she is supposed to be relaxing and enjoying dinner plans tomorrow night with Mr. Rippner before she comes back then she can do some work. She can hear Cynthia start laughing as she is trying to hang up and Lisa is blushing and smiling resembling her little girls, looking at the man next to her with a grin. As she is trying to think of what her red headed friend means by enjoying her husband, when she has 3 excited little girls to deal with, Cynthia should know that being a mommy of 3 young children too.

When Cynthia tells her that Selena has just been handed a file by a coworker and she is starting to panic. Cynthia passes the phone to Selena, and Lisa explains to her, the routine in these matters and that Charles Keefe is heading to Miami for last minute emergency meetings with the politicians from the east coast states and other security representatives tomorrow, and for that, he has changed his arrival time at 5am instead. Lisa sighs in fatigue and her eyes glances to check the brightly illuminated clock on the dashboard, while she tells her this is a regular thing that his security does that all the time. At the same time tells Selena to arrange some of his usual items for his room, his Montecito Cubans and the Cristal on ice, as she knows it would be good training for her. In just 6 hours or so, Keefe is expected at the Lux Atlantic, with his security and diligent team, Cynthia and Seleena are going to greet the Deputy of Homeland Security, and God only knows Cynthia is the only employee she trusts at that hotel. Whom she knows can keep his stay comfortable and most importantly private, as well as train Seleena in procedures and etiquette of providing him with whatever he needs. Remembering how she had proudly trained a panicking Cynthia, when she was a trainee scrambling to gather random items to satisfy her customers, stressing over little details many years ago, whilst Lisa was the ever so encouraging lead manager of the front desk.

The taxi comes to an unexpected stop at the passenger drop-off and Jackson is elated once they were able to leave, the faster they could get to the check in line the happier they would be, as he begrudgingly pays the driver telling him to keep the wad money but did not tip too lavishly. Just relieved to get out of the cab, and they can now can hopefully get to the check in on time although he is not counting on it. Getting out and ducked out into the pouring rain, a newspaper each held over their heads in a laughably futile attempt to ward off the driving rain, they grab their luggage out of the trunk quickly, Jackson grabs a trolley and puts them on it, and they both walk at a steady stride through the airport. The airport is crowded with delayed aggravated and rain-soaked passengers who are all gathering in clusters together in fatigued groups. As Lisa concludes with her call, she looks up at her dark haired husband a smile crossing her lips and begins to talk to him about her conversation with her dad, before her phone rings again, and her dad comes on sounding concerned as ever. She smiles tiredly and wonders if his just thankful that, they will be home tomorrow to take over the girls.

Listening to Joe as he continues to report to her what has been happening that basically boils down to this: the extensive renovations of the family dream house they are having, is nearly done on their house. How the girls were, he's never doing yoga with them again, and how much trouble he has had putting them to bed, he read Cat in the Hat as he takes a travel down memory lane when she was younger, and he used to read to her instantly making him feel decades older. What her brother has planned for his wedding plans, they have finally decided to do it in Miami, and want the girls as bridesmaids, as well as details on Grandma Henrietta's funeral and how their mother is coping. When they get home would they like him to pick them up from the airport? He goes on, on, and on asking her if she is okay, about things, which Lisa does not want to talk about now.

Despairingly exhausted, Lisa sighs as she turns the phone off from the exasperating conversation with her father, placing the warm metal object into her heavy feeling handbag. While she looks at Jackson, they look at each other and he throws Lisa a curious glance, which makes her flush in embarrassment he sees she has gone bright red, and kisses her cheek knowing why, taking her small hand carefully in his hand while Jackson can feel his own cheeks warm, too.

Finally, they get to arrivals and look at the boards, finally they find it: Flight 1019 to Miami, Florida was DELAYED, both groaning at the sight of the word and cursing under their breathes, to find their flight very much delayed. Resulting in the already late flight home being trapped by a freak storm the freaking delays, as they both slowly wander their way through the crowds and luggage until they find the FreshAir check-in counter. The check in line for FreshAir Airline is a tedious and time-consuming line. They both wonder how worse this day could get, both trying desperately to stay in a relatively sane mind-frame standing in line for what feels like three hours and swearing upon their and their children's very souls, no matter how urgent or crucial, to never venture into red-eye flights again.

Jackson asks with a huge grin, even though he knows the immediate answer, she will respond with because he has heard it a thousand times before, knowing there is never a time when Joe isn't worried about Lisa. "How's Joe doing?" Whilst he holds Lisa hand protectively but not possessiveness, even as he reads the New York Times, that is propped open on his blue-sleeved arm and works on the crossword puzzle. From his position next to her, he can smell the delicious scent of jasmine in her hair whilst with his other hand he is rubbing the pad of his thumb along her hand. He loves to smell her hair, she always smells like jasmine and her favorite perfume, and the slight aura of cheap wine, which he is sure he smells like too and when they are mingled together and he is close to her that sends him crazy. The bed sheets and pillows always smell of her too, which some mornings he reluctantly hates getting out of bed.

While Lisa reads her self-help book using it as a distraction, as she is speaking to him with a coy smile on her face, enjoying the feeling of his simple touch, even though it is his, she lets her eyes wander around the airport, trying to condense her father tirade into one simple sentence. She notices some flight attendants heading to their next assignment, Children playing videogames, adults with cell phones not looking where they are treading, weary families with children on the cuff of throwing an almighty tantrum. Taking one last glance out into the masses of many noticing how businessmen are talking with their hands and exasperatedly to their bosses and wives on the phone, and lovers kissing and hugging each other goodbye, after that her eyes glances over at the travelers pulling Suitcases being on wheels behind them. That is when everything seems to fall into place and they all turn into blurs of color and noise. "More worried than he's letting on." She says in one simple burst with a sigh, giving him a half smile, and a shrug.

Meanwhile, Jackson meanwhile Smiles and nuzzles his cheek and nose against her shoulder softly, the fabric of her blazer and stubble causing abrasions of hot prickly heat, against his skin waiting for a bad reaction but doesn't get any. He does not want to push, but he can feel the twinge again, however he shoves it away once more. "That's because he loves you, poor kids. At least this gives us some time alone, before he starts again." He says with a small smile, as he thinks of Joe at home, he knows though that when they get older his going to be as bad as Joe is, ringing them every day and asking the same question.

They continue to converse congenially, enjoying each other's company as if they are old friends, and letting time slip away, turn into a dreamy blur, where nobody else is around and they are in a world of their own. Both try to avoid steering their conversations, to the things that are actually important to them. Lisa with a troubled secrecy a kind of darkness below the bright green orbs she shows to the world, to open her heart to him the only person who knows what lies beneath. As Jackson too desires to confess the things, she needs to know, no correct that, what she should know. However, right now though, maybe it is just too much for them to take. Besides, they are comfortable like this, and none wants to spoil the natural tranquil ambiance around them.

Jackson Smiles warmly, as he looks over at Lisa with the book in her hand, and in his smooth voice he asks, breaking subtly away from the conversation in hand. "So um what did Cynthia want?" While he is watching her with a small smile and his eyes bright and clear, waiting patiently for her to reply.

Lisa realizes how she is relaxing a little around him. She frowns slightly, looking at him patiently, and smiles knowingly when she met his eyes. "She asked about the systems apparently, she has lost her username and pin. How Selena wasn't trained on them, and the Taylor's." She answers with a poignant smile, which seems to be conflicting with the lighthearted smile she is trying to portray; her eyes however giving away how troubled she feels.

Except something in her expression, makes Jackson wonder what she is actually thinking. He remembers the couple that always seems to want Lisa when she's in the middle of something, as though she is always free at their beck and call at all hours of the day. Although Lisa doesn't show it publicly, he knows that they get on her last nerve too, they phoned on her work phone the night before they were due to flew to Dallas, when Lisa was trying to calm a very distressed Olivia to bed, and practically told her to shut the poor child up. She just smiled and coolly gritted her teeth, he knows she desperately wanted to say shove your reservation straight up your ass, to the 'people with special needs', unfortunately she always has to remain professional; she gave him little Olivia and walked into his office with the phone. Leaving him to try to get her settled enough, so she could go back to sleep and dream away, and worrying about how Lisa is really doing.

"Ah, I see great night huh." He says with an insightful smile, and infiltrates in his smooth deep voice, while he unconsciously glances down at the book in her hand. He realizes she is relaxing a little around him, as there seems to be an easing through her somewhat stiff with nervous tension shoulders. "Are you still reading Dr. Phil?"

When she hears Jackson say that, Lisa unwittingly gives him an adorable little playful smile, not wanting her thoughts to become obvious to him. "Yes, and loving each and every chapter wanna know what I'm reading" As she answers him sarcastically, shutting the book slightly so she can show him the front cover, in red and white blocked lettering, with a cheesy commercial picture of the man himself, looking pleased about all the money he raking in with his psychobabble.

Letting his eyes wonder to the book, then back at his still smiling wife. Jackson Smiles mischievously back at her, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Your dad needs to lay off buying you those; I'm worried the book shelf will become a library dedicated to him."

She copies his expression; her eyes are sparkling like diamonds also as she replies. "Don't worry about it; I'll just get another bookshelf."

"As long as they are in your office, and not in the one in the living room, that's fine with me." He retorts in a cheeky manner, his lake blue eyes, and smile also displaying the same expression.

"Fine" Her eyes now trained firmly back on the book, trying to hide the obvious blush, which is surfacing on her cheeks.

A few moments later as she absentmindedly, starts to roll her roll-on, back and forth gently, as if she is rocking a baby to sleep in a stroller with the well precise practice of a mother. However, in actual fact, she is doing so because of nervous tension, which causes Lisa to unconsciously and accidently knock her carry on, into the woman in front with what looks to be her combat boots. Making Jackson who is standing watching this from next to her, and causes him to grin impulsively like a naughty schoolchild, now his eyes instinctively glancing down at his arm, where he starts fake reading his paper not paying attention to the black words. He has already read every printed word on that page his thinks well over fifteen times, which is the disadvantage to being a speed-reader and paying too much attention to the women next to him. Knowing how clumsy his wife, can be from time to time, especially when she is nervous.

The woman's eyes drop down and she notices the unavoidable Dr. Phil book in her hand, they start talking about him, and her rather large family. Lisa meanwhile has her customer friendly face on working to keep her voice sweet, and to Jackson's disappointment. He absolutely hates the man however, he knows ever since 2 years ago Lisa's dad has been buying them for her because she refuses to take therapy. She did ignore them at first, she only began to read them on nights when she had the nightmares, they were too much, and she knew she could not stay asleep.

He listens on hopeful that the line will move on so he does not have to hear anymore in relation to Dr. Phil. As he ponders about the queue moving, Lisa the people pleaser gladly gives the book to the woman when she mentions she doesn't get to watch the show, Lisa seems happy enough though to give the book up and Jackson is too as it is one less book for the bookshelf of his and his stupid self-help. The older women smiles and gratefully accepting the book, as she quickly flicks through it and thanks Lisa genuinely.

The older woman is then called to the desk; at the same time as a counter attendant comes forward screeching as she is reminding people on another flight to start queuing. A man in his late 40's hotheaded and irate, clearly as annoyed as them, in a brown suit shuffles his way through the line yelling at a counter attendant.

Lisa turns her head, so does Jackson, to watch the man complaining, hoping he isn't going to cause too much of a scene, subsequently she looks at Jackson, and he stares at her with a grin, the man clearly not happy with the explanation, starts to heckle the woman who is apologizing sincerely.

Subsequently he starts to become discourteous; this man obviously thinks he is speaking for everybody as he stares indignantly at the staff member, leaving the poor woman to feebly try to placate him, but instead manages to further enrage him.

"Oh, so it doesn't matter that you cancelled my first flight, and then re-routed me twice…" He criticizes in a monotonous, cantankerous voice, as he pulls a disgusted aggravated face at the desk attendant, still trying to calm him down.

This makes Lisa steps in try to calm the situation and uses her managerial skills or what she calls Hotel reflexes, by leaning forward, Lisa raised her voice slightly, and her hotel reflexes kick in. Unfortunately, this causes the man seethe further, at the same time as he is glaring down at her as if she is a small child. Standing straight and confident, Lisa leans forward slightly, as the man menacingly turns towards her and raises his voice even more. Jackson steps in soon after, with a sharp voice that cuts through the older man's argument, using his managerial expertise. He has had enough of the person's bullshit; no one is going to talk to his Lisa that way, as they are defending the exasperated counter attendant. Glancing at her husband beside her, looking smart and handsome dressed smartly in his suit, with the newspaper he was reading held in one hand. She can't help but stare at him as he spoke, admiring the way his eyes glittered at the angered passenger. Lisa suddenly finds herself engrossed to him even more than usual as he tries to get his point across, with his handsome face looking serious, are adorned with his gorgeous eyes, that to some people can seem so dangerous.

All the poor woman in the staff was trying to do was direct some of the other passengers to their flights, and this man had obviously had enough of waiting not that they blamed him; she looked as though she was waiting for security would come up to them and get the man out of the airport. However, they thought he sounded worse than their children did, as he begins to retaliate, before wheeling himself round to stare into Jackson's managerial facial expression, only to have his arm gripped by Jackson, whose fingers clamp around it, in a vice-like hold. Lisa holds her breath, her mind reeling at how straightforward her husband is being, as always, especially to this rude obnoxious man in front of them.

After making their points, they didn't have to call security in order to get the man out after all, he seems to resist anymore, he simply opens his mouth, quickly sighing and instead flicks his gaze over to Lisa before clenching his jaw, which in turn causes Jackson's eyebrows to rise slightly, as if challenging the angry man. To which he snap childishly, before wrenching his arm out of the tight grip Jackson has on him, and huffily stalking away. As soon as that is over, Jackson smiles triumphantly and is just about to talk to Lisa, opening his mouth, when Lisa sees the umbrella lying on the post and she runs over to give it back to the old woman.

Lisa turns to him grimacing, looking slightly caught off guard, and causing her to smile as she whispering in his ear "Nicely done"

He gins widely, tucking his newspaper beneath his arm, while enjoying the tickle she just gives him from that one action and whispers back, hoping to give her the same feeling "Not at all," Jackson goes on, trying not to look at the beautiful woman next to him, that beautiful women being his wife. "That was just backup." He pauses for a brief second, smiling broadly at his wife with a hint of mischief in his bright blue eyes. "Well you got the ball rolling." She grins back and she kisses him on his scruffy cheek before turning back around.

Lisa smiles sheepishly at him, suddenly avoiding eye contact as she replies, she laughs, to brush aside the nerves she is feeling. "I guess its hotel reflex."

Jackson whispers in her ear again, with the same grin on his face, he wonders if she will relax if he takes them to the Tex Mex his favorite restaurant when travelling and famous for its insanely good tacos. The 24-hour joint was always busy and he knows from previous travels, with their children here to Dallas, that it is in fact positioned right across their gate. "Do you want to know what, that's why God created the Tex-Mex best nachos in town and right in front of our gate?"

She is worried as they have not been alone like this in the last 2 years, and this could lead to more than she is willing to go at the moment. They both agreed tonight, that they would flirt like the old days before they get home and start the grind of work and the girls. Before then every time they consider this, she can never go further and she knows in some ways that is his intention.

"Good tip thanks, but I think I should call dad you know, and see if they are okay and check my messages." She looks at her small wristwatch with a burgundy red strap, and a cream and silver face. Then she turns her head to him, she quickly smiles as she is slightly embarrassed to answer and trying hard not to show it.

He however knows she is stalling this, and he attempts to hide the slight smile that is trying to force its way across his lips, knowing she frightened, he wants her to have a sense of control over their interaction. Before, they had a good personal life every time he the flirting became more she clams up. He doesn't blame her for this, and he quite understands, but not being able to simply touch and enjoy being with your wife for 2 years can make you crazy. Nevertheless, he knows that one day, they will get back to the swing of things again and be the couple they were, maybe even better.

"Okay what about I'll save you a seat, just in case you change your mind?" He asks, with his mouth dry and his throat clogged up, forcing him to swallow, while also sensing her awkwardness toward him at the moment.

Lisa is getting nervous; she opens her mouth to reply and then shuts it. She stares up into his eyes for a moment, but all she can see is a little Cynthia on her shoulder grinning at her and mouthing ecstatically. "Do it Leese, enjoy Mr. Rippner like you are supposed to, it's your one chance to feel like you are on a date, before you get home to the kids." She always does this, when Jackson comes in to the hotel sometimes, to collect her for dinner early.

"Oh, uh…um, Okay." She smiles hesitantly, as she answers feeling fear rise inside her, but also a sort of contented anticipation bubbling through.

They are called to the desk, after being questioned, minor pleasantries the matronly counter staff making the final checks for clearance. Once the interrogation was finished checking in their bags and a quick stamp upon both their already packed passport and gone through security which had been a nightmare since angry travelers who decided that it was a good idea to mess with the security officers, they reached the checkpoint and went through without a problem. Usually when they flew with the kids, Jackson would have to call ahead to speed them through the lines and customs.

Jackson kisses her cheek gently, and they proceeded to walk their separate ways. Lisa carefully tucking her airline ticket away, and began to walk in the direction towards the gate lounge. As she looks around for a seat, and overhearing a middle-aged woman ask her daughter if she was going to be okay comes to a complete stop, Lisa allows herself to smile wistfully as she listens to the conversation. As she watches as a blonde haired girl aged 10 or 11 years old, tells her mother she's fine going on the flight on her own hoping she'd notice her independence, and the girl glances over at Lisa and rolls her eyes as if to say 'parents, honestly'. Lisa is unquestionably familiar with that look, and has to lets out a small laugh, because she is reminded of her dad, and her daughters, as the girl goes with the flight attendant. Automatically she starts playing with the metal band, on the finger twisting it, as she recalls her father asking her the same question not long before.

She comes out of her musing, in a moment of frozen shock, Lisa gasps and accidently bumps into a woman running right into her with a cup full of iced mocha coffee in hand, which spills all over her outfit she gives her a false smile and the woman apologizes profusely. Of course, she is making excuses, assuring Lisa, it was cold, and meanwhile Lisa has to bite back her sarcastic reply, something along the lines of, "really do you think?" Because the coldness of the drink shocks her so much, she can't even shriek out.

Leaving Lisa to watch as the woman turns away, and calls her husband asking him for another drink; and the husband hollering back something about her finishing the drink already. However, Lisa clears her dry throat, and swipes at a cold droplet slowly inching its way down her top, while she looks over at Jackson who has an apologetic smile on his face she gives him a little smile tilting her head slightly. While thinking that maybe she will take him up on that offer, maybe it will do some good to her confidence if she does take his offer up, Lisa's lips stretch out into a thin line before she turns heading to the bathrooms.

Inside she takes off her jacket, and dries her blouse the best she could; as the stain from her jacket refuses to wash away, it makes her sigh in annoyance, because out of all the blouses, it had to be this one, she contemplates, as she throws away the damp tissue paper, and discarded baby wipes from the counter. In the meantime, hearing the echoes of the announcements being made on all the flights that are currently delayed. Suddenly she paused momentarily, looks at the scar just above her right breast on her chest, It is a stark contrast against her pale body; just above her breast, upraised and dark pink, it is a mark she will bear for her entire life. While she is watching herself reflected in the mirror, as her eyes are drawn to the scar on her breast, looking at it grimly, that is when the awful flashbacks of that afternoon came flooding back to her. As she stares at it with sorrow and pain, the thoughts enter her mind, wishing that she could one day forget about the past, and how her entire life has changed after the incident, she wonders how Jackson can still love her so much, and how he thinks she is beautiful even though that scar now mars her. She looks at herself in the mirror again, this time making eye contact with herself, realizing how tired she looks, and how her eyes lack the fiery passion, of her former self. Shaking her head, her curls bouncing around her face tickling her cheeks, which takes her from her musings, looking away she reaches into her carryon bag, and removes a button up cardigan to put on over the over a pretty tank-top and changes quickly.

When she walks out of the washroom letting the door slam behind her, she starts surveying the area watchfully; she notices that Jackson is waiting for her at the Tex Mex playing with his glass, with a plate of nachos in front of him. That he is casually picking out a nacho every now and then probably to quench his hunger, or soak up the alcohol they had at the funeral with his other hand, and noting an empty seat next to him in hopes that she would change her mind. Not even noticing when Lisa slips up behind him and taps his shoulder to gain his attention. He looks like he is musing as much as she is and wonders if his thinking what she is thinking or waiting for news on their flight or a progress report from one of his associates in Miami concerning an assignment.

Patting the patterned fabric covered seat next to him, Lisa asks curiously, with a small smile, she can smell the subtle whiff of alcohol like a thin aura around him. "Is this seat taken?"

Jackson turns his head to her and a triumphant smile crossing his face immediately, his mind going back to their first date at the hotel restaurant. As he watches her for a moment, it is very difficult not to notice the pretty woman next to him Lisa Reisert has always been a mystery, and how this seems to be very familiar to it, noting the way she is feeling slightly uncomfortable around him. He watches her sit in a lady like manner; making sure her skirt isn't twisted by the action, and shuffle her luggage around. He notices as always, that she has such a beautiful smile, and as far as he was concerned, it is honest and it wasn't the same people pleaser look she always gives to all of the customers at the Lux, it was the smile she gave him when she felt comfortable and their daughters. He also observes how her auburn curls shine, even in the dim lighting of the Tex-Mex. "No not yet, have a seat." He answers, gesturing to the seat in question, while the little voice in his head condescendingly replies in amusement, 'That's real smooth, Rippner, Impeccably smooth'.

She smiles watching him as he plays with the glass she guesses he had scotch or brandy in, her mind distracted with the memories, flashing through her mind of Jackson, and where it all began 9 years ago, until she feels the words slip from her lips.

"Are you okay Jackson?" She asks timidly, genuinely curious.

He turns and smiles at her, glad she came here; he was worried and could bet his next pay cheque, even though he is not much of a gambling man that she would feel uncomfortable, about the whole thing and probably hide in the bathroom until their flight is called. Alternatively, she would go and sit somewhere quiet, less crowded and he would bring drinks over to her and have small talk. However she had made a last minute decision to wind down with comfort food and a nice drink to boot, but there's also the thrill of flirting with her at the Tex Mex bar, the enjoyment at acting normal with his captivating woman. "Yer good thank you, so…did you call your dad then, how are they doing?" He says with an inquiring smile, though what he has just said is absolutely compassionate and sincere, and in his heart perfectly true, he's also caught himself in a lie. Because what he has wanted to tell her all night is, "You look so beautiful tonight".

That's when Lisa decides to relax and enjoy the night, doing something she had been so proud of before. "Yep no more calls, their good, they're still fast sleeping at the moment, nothing new to report". She says, with a small smile on her lips, and mentally slaps herself. Great excuse, wasn't it? Looking away, she avoids eye contact, as she can tell by the look on his face, that he doesn't believe one word of her excuse, however he understands why she did. Because by the way, he continues to stare at her and smiles trying to be secretively thrilled as he did on their first date, however she knows he cannot lie, and genuinely is ecstatic to see her accept his offer. Remembering how he was the first guy all those years ago, to have caught her eye after years of dedicating herself to her work.

He glances down to his arm and checks his watch; glad to see it is an hour where they would be sound asleep in their beds. "Oh good, I was worried they would be wide awake, causing your dad problems." He says knowing she didn't, her eyes are wide and completely giving away the fact that she's lying, and because if she did the conversation would have lasted more than 5 minutes. Joe would have told her everything, he strokes her arm gently, smiles, she smiles back, and he knows she's comfortable again, her natural guard lowering slightly not being stupidly over-trusting and he approves her caution.

"Hey, what would you like to drink?" He asks truthfully and a little weary, as the slight grin from earlier making its appearance, and he straightens up his posture. Afterwards he bites his bottom lip, as he raises an eyebrow and can see the underlying sadness in her eyes under the reserved flirting, and wonders if she's been worrying about the fact it's coming up to the 2nd anniversary.

Meanwhile Lisa observes him sucking in a breath still biting his full bottom lip, and thinks about their daughter Olivia doing the same thing when she's concentrating on something like her drawings, or whenever she tries to piece words together to form sentences. And how incredibly sexy he looks doing it, done in such a subtle flirtatious way, which makes him look more handsome. He did the same action on their first date, and while she was cautious, she liked that a lot. While it also reminds herself, of how cute their youngest daughter Olivia looks too. As she shakes her head, she did not want this to become more than it already is. It is already leading somewhere, and she would not let him buy her anything and leave her in debt like last time and she perks up in interest.

"Yes, please". She says as she is now twirling one of her curls around her finger and biting the corner of her lower lip, a sign that she was concentrating that is both sweet and refreshing, while she was looking at the menu.

Entranced by this, Jackson watches her as if completely hypnotized. She does that a lot, not in an outlandish flirtatious way; it is just innocent, carefree, and childlike and reminds him of Emily their oldest daughter who is a twin. She does the same thing when she is doing homework, drawing a pretty picture, or simply looking at a menu and it always reminds him of their first date and never fails to make him smile and something he likes.

Jackson remembers he did this to her 9 years earlier, when they went to the hotel bar for their first date. He was at the Lux checking in, for a very long and tiring few days on an assignment. The first time he saw her, he knew she was the woman he wanted to marry. He remembers how beautiful she looked sitting next to him smiling; as he played the guessing game he noticed the way her eyes had strayed, and inclined her head towards the vodka section. As if he has the ability of telekinetic and reading her mind, of what her drink was, he guessed correctly, dead on, and he noticed she was impressed, more relaxed and yet slightly flustered.

Of course, she lied about her drink, knowing she enjoyed the guessing game, up until he had narrowed it down to the final two, and there was no way she would give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right, so instead she ordered a Bay Breeze instead and got slightly tipsy, also displayingher wicked sense of spoke about his nameand a kid Lisa knew at school who was also unfortunately named, both having to wear glasses and had braces until high school, Jackson being a band geek, Lisa playing on girl's field hockey born in the great state of New York in Albany, how he killed his parents, which is not exactly true his mother a psychology professor and the head of the department at the same collage his dad teaches at, died of a brain tumor when he was younger. Explaining his father is a professor of English and can be as annoying as Joe can be, when it comes to his feminist artistic artist of an art teacher sister. Then they went to dinner and enjoyed each other's company, although he did not go too much into his job at that time she had fun trying to guess.

He looks at her and smirks raising his eyebrows, that look she just gave, made him feel warm and slightly self-indulgent. It is one of his many favorite looks, which makes him almost go insane inside everytime, and can be a very dangerous thing, which he can barely control himself when she gives it to him. As they carry on sharing secretive looks, constant glances that look so… coy, and blushing a bit in a way that, only they would understand. He throws his head back, and acts as though he is lost in thought, when really he is just trying to figure out the best winding trail to the already known answer of Seabreeze as it was at the hotel restaurant, a game that they still play sometimes when they were out on a date night. Even though he does know the answer, the look she just gives to him always gives away the fact that vodka is in the drink. She smirks back her green eyes twinkling, he knows she is going to lie again, but was one of the things he loves about her, that he could read her and she always surprises him, which the girls have inherited too. She does end up lying to him again, but uses it to his advantage.

The bar tender comes over and asks what he would like, Jackson asks for a beer while Lisa gives him a dark look before she asks directing her attention to the bartender for a bay breeze throwing him a smirk as she does, and he gives her an equally dark look because he can tell she was up to something. The bar tender nods once goes away hurrying to fill the drink order, leaving them to chat some more

Lisa plays her hair, twirling a strand around her finger before pushing it behind her ear, drawing his attention to the slim lines of her neck a small, embarrassed smile playing on her lips; her cheeks are blushing a light pink hue slightly, as she asks him in a jovially flirtatious tone of voice. "That's some trick you've got there Mr. Rippner, thanks for the drink, by the way."

Her husband Smiles and Jackson watches his wife with a grin starting to grow on his lips, reaching his eyes, and brightening them further. He wonders at thirty five-years-old, how he ended up being married with this wonderful woman for 8 years as he pulls his transfixed eyes once more from the crook of her exposed neck, even though her hair isn't up tonight. At the line of her jaw, to the hollow, leading him to the joining-point, just below her right ear, noticing how she isn't wearing any earrings, and realizing how he always manages to get distracted when he looks at her. "That's okay, it's a good way to break the ice, and though I do believe this is the second time I've ever been wrong." As he answers her in a contented tone, and with an immense smile now on his features that makes his clear blue eyes sparkle, while he thinks about this, he wonders about his beautiful little girls too.

"You know I've been thinking all day about how the women in your family are quite dynamic. And how my daughters seem to be just as dynamic, and how I am in for a lot of trouble."

She looks at him, amiably, expectantly, and laughs; she knows her daughters have many of their traits, which is both a good thing and in a small way a bad thing, but can mostly be counted as good. "Are you talking about how my grandmother ate grape nuts to keep her arteries clean, and used Duke for rest?" She waves her hand dismissively and laughs warmly, clearly embarrassed by the thought of her 91 years grandmother and the much younger, but just as energetic Duke.

"She was never fazed by anything she always told me to look forward." A slight smile dances upon her lips, although it comes out more as a poignant smile, as she feels a pang of sadness as she thinks of her grandmother. Remembering her grandmother's alma mater 'Always look forward', and quirky philosophies her grandmother had had a wonderful life; she had a wonderful life too before it was taken away from her one afternoon it has been those very qualities that have gotten Lisa through the most trialing times. She had been really close to Grandma Henrietta and her death was a crushing blow to her already fragile world. If was she a weaker person, then there would be no doubt that a breakdown would have occurred. However, Lisa Rippner formally known as Reisert is no weakling. With her feeling, her grandmother's spirit watching and guiding her, with her optimistic yet realistic outlook Lisa suddenly feels the need to let certain things go for the moment, and just be happy flirting with her gorgeous husband.

The same one that her grandmother said was worth keeping and told her if she was much younger, and didn't have Duke she would have him herself, she was always good at reading people within her vast circle of family, friends and acquaintances. She did not HAVE to dwell on the past, spiraling into the oppressive cycle of victimization and self-pity on the past right now. She could look forward and with an impulsive renewed vigor, and suddenly her olive green orbs sparkle with confidence and determination.

Jackson notices her olive green eyes are full of confidence, focused, and as striking as ever. "Well, you seem to use me for the same thing" he jokes in a cordially tone of voice, causing his dimples to show like a cheeky schoolboy. He watches her closely, knowing what she is hiding behind her deep sorrow and natural awkwardness, and remembering she was the first woman he'd ever met, who had been shy about the topic of sex, which makes him laughs loudly along with Lisa, as he continues. "And I'm sure our girls will do the same to theirs when they're older; I know you were close to her I'm sorry she passed."

"Of course, I know she helped us a lot and I miss her." Lisa says with sadness now on her features, suddenly finding the need to talk about her grandma. Her eyes look glassy with a flicker blue, while she gives him a sad smile, and see how his eyes are somewhat as glassy as her own are, because what he has just said is absolutely sincere, and in her heart she knows it is perfectly true.

"I think she knows you are Leese." He says as he smiles sorrowfully and holds her hand squeezing it slightly; she smiles back with the same expression. "To Grandma Henrietta, her spirit is still very much alive."

The Bar tender gives them their drinks and Lisa takes the drink in front of her, the glass sparkles with little beads of condensation around the sides and she takes a sip, rather large a gulp to taste it. She instinctively scrunches her nose, when she tastes the Baybreeze, as she brushes off the taste, and Jackson cannot help but grin. As he is reminded of Millie the younger twin, when she is doing the same thing at the sight of or anybody refers to vegetables or anything she does not enjoy, and he smirks at his wife, who smirks back.

"Does that taste OK?" Jackson smiles and tipped his head towards the bartender. "I think you should of have had that seabreeze Leese?" Jackson continues their casual flirtatious conversation, one and while casually glancing up at the TV screen as the face of Charles Keefe takes over.

Watching Jackson's handsome profile, Lisa wonders how many women would die just to have him smile at them like that. How many would die to sleep with him? "I think you know me too well Jackson Rippner, but I'm fine so you don't need to ask me." She rasps out, a little too quickly, she nods at him with a smile, emphasizing her point and tightly grips her drink.

He continues to grin at her touching her leg, as he knows where this is heading. "Really are you sure?" He half-smiles at the question her, asking the question her dad asks all the time, and compares himself to her dad, that's when his phone starts to ring. Just as she is going to answer, and he sighs frustrated by the interruption. He was just getting started, having a pleasant occasion with his wife, and feels as though she was just about to open up to him, maybe starting to tell him the things she hadn't told anyone, that she felt she wanted to tell can tell she wants to keep talking to him, as much as he wants to keep talking to her; however, it is intruded upon by an obnoxious beeping, which he, unfortunately, recognizes."God what do they want now." He picks it up from his belt again, and glances at the id. It's Brad one of his work colleagues and, he sighs and looks at Lisa apologetically. It seems that his official title is manager, but lately it is beginning to feel more like babysitter to his staff, he had ordered them not to be disturbed, until he called them. "Baby I have to take this, I'm sorry" He says with a slight frown, and his expression seems to be of annoyance, not waiting for Brad's response, he puts his hand over the speaker and faces herto give them some privacy, knowing barely as he is just about to say something, and he is interrupted.

It is well after midnight, and finally there is an announcement regarding their flight 1019 is departing now, after all the delays from the thunderstorm, they are finally leaving, and a sudden uproar of noise as people start to clap and cheer around Jackson and Lisa. He looks around the crowd, and finds himself playing along with the clapping. Knowing they are finally going home to see their little girls, and give Lisa's father a well-deserved break from the chaos, although both of them seemingly rather reluctant to leave their places at the bar.

Letting out a long breath, Lisa smiled reluctantly and lightly claps for a moment; consequently, she consumes the rest of her drink, before she gets down from the stool carefully twisting her skirt back in place, and grabs her shoulder bag from the counter. "Okay thank you, can I pay for the drinks at least?" As she delves into the organized madness of her bag, for her purse, with a hesitant smile crosses her features,she's always been fiercely independent.

Jackson meanwhile beams a dashing smile, as he watches her, asshe doesn't mind him buying her a drink,maybe she's hoping to use it as an excuse to buy him one when they get back to Miami and have a date night. She always seems to get this way, at this part and it is very cute, but he also knows, there is fear inside her and he wishes she would just tell him what's wrong. "You're welcome I'll pay, you go and get on the plane I'll meet you there." He replies, keeping the smile on his face, even though at this moment he feels as awkward as she does and slides some bills onto the tile-decorated bar to the bartender, effectively paying for their drinks.

Shaking her head as if to shake off the alcohol from the bay breeze, Lisa smiles back putting her purse back into her shoulder bag, and kisses his rough cheek before turning, walking off with her roll on in hand, and then stopping to halfway and turning to see him. She smiles watching him, as he's on the phone studying her also with that twinkle still in his eyes, and casually glancing away subtly so it appears he's lazily scanning the entire restaurant and airport at the crowd in all that of leisure, as they continue with their laid-back flirting.

The Tex Mex Café is now beginning to get packed in with latecomers and early-risers, whilst his phone is attached to his ear in no time. "Fine so were still on great and they are okay, and their all-sleeping good I'm worried though, I'll let you know thanks for watching." He questions, the cell phone now clenched tightly in his palm, as he turns away to pay the bill, his voice sounding relieved at least and seems to be getting lost in the crowd.

* * *

><p>Thank you for reading, and I hope this does not sound as boring as the other chapter. I am trying to get the psychological aspect of their relationship down, because it is more complicated and there are many things hidden deep down that have not helped them.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Hi, I just want everybody to know, there is a category for Breakfast on Pluto, which people should check out. Evelina A wrote a really sweet story called Cake, and it is just really adorable I recommend you read it.

I also want to thank you all who reviewed, and taken the time to read the story.

Anyway back to the story, things are starting to hot up now. However, as I said in chapter 2, I'm trying to explain their relationship.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

With her heels tapping loudly against the tiled flooring, Lisa takes a deep breath and, holding her head high, even though she is feeling bone-weary, and just a little tipsy from the baybreezes she has consumed, as she walks through the airport trying to get to the gate on time. Unfortunately, she knocks into 2 overly excited teenage boys who run past her obviously thinking they were late to get on the flight too. She gives them a tired congenial smile, her mind spinning with retorts for them, instead she takes one last sweeping glance around the gate and gives the woman gate attendant her ticket.

As she finally gets on the plane, the African-American woman is exceedingly friendly, sweet, and polite as she directs her to where she is seated, although it should be obvious, Lisa thanks the younger woman. She feels some sympathetic towards the attendants for having to plaster a smile on their faces all day, regardless of how they were treated by passengers, as she too endures the same thing at her hotel with customers. However next to her the older redheaded flight attendant, with her eyes burning fire as she gazes at passengers as though she is willing to set them on fire, looking as though she must've had a bad day, she seems rather cantankerous and disgruntled with any of their presence. Lisa smiles graciously, even though she is too tired to care, and turns to the directed route and walks along the aisle, making her way down to her assigned seat next to her husband.

Looking for her seat, she carefully steps over other people's baggage, her shiny auburn hair bouncing, looking confident and secure in herself, and feeling the excitement of finally getting home and thinking about seeing the little excited girls waiting for them. Passing through into another area, Lisa bites back a groan as she surveys the chaotic scene around her. She smiles sincerely as she walks past a man and women of the screaming baby, making a mental note to wait as long as possible before taking the girls on a red eye flight.

* * *

><p>In the meantime, Jackson who had gotten to the gate and boarded the plane a few minutes earlier and now is sitting in his uncomfortable, cheap polyester coated, economic seat in 18F already. Waiting patiently for his seatmate, and trying to remember what had possessed them to settle for seats in coach, In the grand scheme of things, he wonders why he didn't spend a thousand dollars more for first class seats instead? He knows from experience it would've been worth it.<p>

This is while he is looking at photographs of the girls and Lisa, inside an expandable amount of plastic sleeves, inside his worn and somewhat abused looking black leather wallet inscribed with the initials JR in silver letters, the girls had brought him for Father's Day 3 years ago, Joe also received one too, only with gold initials.

He looks at them intently, his eyes almost translucent as though deep in thought, drifting into his own world private little world in his mind that no one else can get to. While an enormous smile graces his lips, the kind you get when you think of the people you love, his index finger stroking the little faces in the photograph. In addition, Jackson Rippner loves his wife, and very energetic children, they are the most important things to him.

One is of them on them beach playing in the water together, he is laughing, absolutely drenched laying on the golden sand by the shore, as small tranquil turquoise waves are lapping at his legs. As Emily throws a pink princess castle bucket full of salty seawater over his already soaked head and chest, while Millie is bent on her little knees, holds his arms with a huge mischievous smile on her sweet little elfin face. At the same time as a giggling Lisa holds little Olivia looking a little bewildered and slightly overwhelmed by it all, as Lisa takes her little hand and they are tickling his feet at the same time as he thrashes against them.

Another is of the girls on their own playing at the park sitting on a blue and white checked blanket surrounded by tons of plastic food containers, the twins fighting as always about where to position their dolls for the feast, on the bright green grass. While Little Olivia lies on the blanket, drawing a pretty picture in wax crayons of butterflies and cats with a small shy smile on her beautiful little elfin face.

The one in the front pouch is a picture of a hot and sweaty Lisa, with strands of hair stuck to her forehead the rest of her hair matted and in need of a wash. She's on the hockey field with her field stick, looking as though she's about to whack somebody with it as hard as possible. Looking an absolute sweaty mess, with plump red lips and heavily lined eyes with a come-hither look, looking lethal and determined.

He never went anywhere without reminders of his family, they are the most important things in his life. He had never thought that he would have the feelings that he has for his family; he loves them so much that he will protect them to the ends of the earth, there is no way in hell anyone is ever gonna take _his _baby girls, or beautiful wife away from him.

Actually, he had never thought that he would have a family with his career, and the things that he had done and seen in his past careers, in the army, working with the CIA, and now the company. He has found, it is the hardest job he has ever had…being a daddy, takes a lot of skill and patience and is constant work and growth, being protective, supportive, and responsible towards their children. Nevertheless, it has been the most rewarding thing he has ever done, he has become a part of Lisa's life in a way he never thought he would have before with anyone else, and ended up seeing humanity, stability, and compassion again in relation to others. While also having the ability to generate life, and lead him to configure a role in society, whereby he isn't affirming his supremacy over women or Lisa, where he is the breadwinners and Lisa stays at home to cook, clean and take care of children, their roles are pretty much even.

He glances down at his Rolex tiredly, and then looks up watching as the other passengers, tiredly shove their carry-on suitcases and hand luggage into the overhead bins with a large clunk shut, and find their seats. All of a sudden, he sees Lisa, her hair shining brightly in the light, and her eyes glancing around the cabin, while smiling tiredly as she is coming down the aisle, when she realizes her husband is in the empty seat next to hers already.

* * *

><p>Confused, but relieved she has finally found her seat, she has to do a double take shaking her head and squints wondering inquisitively, while trying to think of some sort of explanation as to how he got there so fast; they graciously exchange smiles as she sees him.<p>

* * *

><p>He puts the wallet away in his inside breast pocket; and a sudden feeling of dread fell upon him as he thinks of what he had to do to her. Lisa walks down the aisle and finds her seat; sitting next to her was her husband in the seat next to the window.<p>

Tired and ready to snuggle into a cheap, airline-provided pillow rested on her husband's shoulder, maybe-taking advantage of cuddling against Jackson in the process feeling his warmth, and falling asleep as they did back in the cab. Simultaneously, the pair glances at each other; she looks down still smiling at him and is thankful, and rather surprised to see him there already. Feeling a little incredulous that he hasn't offered any justification as for his early arrival, she knows his fast but this fast especially when she had a head start. Not that she is complaining, at least she could see where they were sitting, but it was too odd a move not to explain why or how.

"Hey, I figured you…." Jackson indicates, with a wide smile, looking up at her, ecstatic at seeing her beautiful familiar smiling face, that he never gets bored of seeing.

"Hey me too…" Lisa responds softly, frowning slightly as she looks down at her husband, with a bemused expression.

Being the thoughtful gentleman he always is, Jackson already stands up and grins at her eager to assist her, and resuming the flirting they were doing at the bar. He enjoys seeing her so relaxed around him; it has been such a long time since they have been like this. Moreover, he was going to take full advantage of this, while he can because when they get home he's not sure if this will continue, or they will be able to. "Do you want a bellhop?" He inquires, with a flirtatious smile, on his handsome face, and bright clear blue eyes glimmering in lights.

"No no, Jackson I can do this." Lisa asserts with a smile, eyes glowing with radiance, while she is waving her hands.

"Leese let me." Jackson requests, with a semi serious smile, his eyes still complimentary, while being the man, he is, but he knows she will refuse the gesture.

Acceptably Lisa has an equally playful smile, while she rolls her big emerald eyes at him, leaving her roll-on suitcase for Jackson to put up. She steps back, so Jackson has room and can lift her carry-on bag, and can stow it away in the overhead compartment. As a rush of air whooshes up her nostrils as he does the action, giving her another whiff of his scent. "Sure" She replies with an appreciative jovial tone mixed with flirtation, while adding a little shrug to emphases, and eyes glinting mischievously.

Lifting the roll on in his arms, and into the overhead baggage compartment, Lisa scoots past him not noticing the low overhead carrier, she knocks her head against the corner of it with a dull thud, and he curls his lips into a large grin, at her continued clumsiness. "Are you feeling okay Baby?" He inquires, with real uncertainty, eyebrows frowning slightly, and concern in his voice.

Crying out, Lisa grasps the back of her head and paused, screwing her eyes shut as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. "Ow, I'm not usually such a lightweight." She proclaims with shock and lightheartedness in her voice, as she sits down in the window seat with her purse on her lap and subconsciously smoothes her skirt, as she makes eye contact with him, her cheeks now lit a soft shade of pink and a coy smile playing on her lips. All she can see, when she looks at her husband is the expression of amusement on his face, at her clumsiness along with an 'I know' expression as his intense blue eyes twinkle wickedly.

"Those Strong bay breezes, I actually blame you." Lisa states with seriously in her voice, however her bright eyes are telling another story, as she pretends to be accusing him.

Snapping the compartment shut, Jackson returns to his seat clipping his seatbelt into place, and with a slightly waves his hand, as he answers, pretending to be sympathetic to her predicament as he pouts and nods, catching onto what she is insinuating. "I was going to cut you off anyways." As a consequent, he stares at her for a moment longer, before allowing a small grin to form, knowing full and well that they have both had more box wine in the last few hours than they have had over the last three years, add one drink of baybreeze can always knock her off her feet.

Lisa smiles at him, whenever she looks into piercing eyes when they are like this, they seem to look straight at her and always causes her a deep tickle in her that will never change is the slightly mesmerizing, and bizarre chemistry between them. "We did have that cheap wine at the funeral, and I guess it doesn't mix well with the cheap alcohol at the airport." She teases, and realizes it was a lousy explanation, but it doesn't matter, her head is painfully throbbing and a dull ache lingers for a couple of seconds, while she rubs her head, and sighs.

Jackson gives her an apologetic expression, but his smirking on the inside as he answers her. "Nope, Well I feel terrible for that, so are you okay?"

Lisa gives him a knowing look, a small but unintentional playful smile attempting to cross her face, eyes thoughtful as she drops her hand. "You should, but yer I'm fine"

The older woman who Lisa gave the book to passes their seats, smiling and yelling at her, in an embarrassing but friendly manner that she is already on chapter 2. Lisa smiles her people pleaser winning smile managing to hide how tired looks, and Jackson smiles too politely just glad it's out of Lisa's hands, and wonders if she has found the colorful artwork Millie and Emily had done on the picture of the man in question. When he looks back at Lisa he throws her an insightful look, and she looks at him back with a smile although seems lost in thought in one of her multitasking moments that comes from her work and being a mother.

Just after the tall, snobbish, redheaded senior flight attendant stalks past and rolls her eyes obviously mistrustful of the young couple, as she witnesses them chatting amicably to each other as if they have known each other for years casually flirting, which is true anyway. Jackson watches her walk away, throwing fake smiles here and there around the cabin. He hopes she isn't going to be a problem tonight.

"I really do are you sure?" Jackson replies and then laughed slightly, his mind drifting slowly away to watch the other passenger's files slowly could find a way to make it up to her, reasons for why he wants to do all he wanted.

Lisa smiles slightly, as she is looking at him at little embarrassed, her cheeks flushed. "If I say yes to you, are you going to ask me are you sure again?"

He responds quickly, laughing gently while sympathetic, as he holds a hand up in admission of defeat. "No, no that's your dads department; I'm just being the loving caring husband I am." Looking at her simultaneously and smirks as the edges of his lips curl wickedly, nodding slowly as she looks at him with a wide smile, and then both of them looking away shyly, trying to hide their smiles as they continue in the midst of their easy going flirting.

She had never met anybody who had listened and understood her so quickly, as the man next to her does. He is always hanging onto, and taking in, every word she has to say. She has always liked a man who listened…_really listened _to a woman, and she feels privileged to have that, not many women have that kind of attentiveness from their husbands and boyfriends. When he was flirting with her 9 years ago in the hotel check in line and indeed right now, it wasn't to the extent where he was being blatant enough to have his intentions written across his face, or too charming to be real, as if there was something wrong with him underneath the facade. There was no cheeky grin, no flashing of his cash, no clichéd pick-up lines. It seems as though; she was and still doe's fall for him, because of the natural charm and schoolboy smile that he seems to posses. At first though, she was reluctant to date him, but then realized after a while that he was a decent man and fell in love with him. She found that before he engages in a decent conversation with her, he wants her to feel relaxed enough around him, something that she has admired him for over the years, and considering the past couple of years. He is so strikingly handsome and aware of it, but doesn't use this as an excuse for being an arrogant bastard towards her, all smarmy with a constant smirk on his face. Just like somebody else, she knows did a couple of years ago, and that thought makes her smile sadly. The real problem is, why she can't seem to break through the barrier she has built for herself, and the feeling of guilt, because she is unable to touch him in the same gentle manner he has been.

A woman in her late forties surgically enhanced face, looks their way looking though she wants to devour Jackson using a provoking dreamy stare, and therefore breaking Lisa from her musing. Attempting to wink at Jackson actually, she is gawking at a married man, appearing to need help, and worse off than Lisa does. She keeps struggling with the suitcase failing to shove her oversized luggage into the small overhead compartment; obviously thinking she this is a fantastic reason for guys to help her.

The woman is wearing a white fabric pant suit, with a low-cut scarlet blouse, and a burgundy scar around her scrawny and wrinkled little neck, looking helplessly at Jackson with a wide toothy-white grin that looks as though she spends every week at the dentists. As well as way too much make-up on, she has probably brought shares in Revlon and Maybelline to try to become one of their cover women no doubt, a definite botoxed face which if she tried to smile anymore she may strain a muscle and need immediate medical attention. She seems to be a little too tanned with an overly manufactured tan; she looks as orange and wrinkled up like a prune as the elderly women sunbathing on Miami Beach. Her long, overly fussed and teased to the max with hair is a little too unmistakably bleached, which is probably so she can justify acting like a ditzy blonde-haired. With her most definitely wearing a copious amount of gaudy jewellery, she also has fiendish false nails painted in gaudy colors, and that look like they can scratch Lisa's eyes out if she decided on a catfight against her for Jackson.

In addition, obviously like any other women on this earth to ever lay eyes on the man, she finds Jackson very attractive, because she is giving him a scary leering stare while licking her toxic needle treated pumped up, and overly stained lips. As if she could eat him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and if she has any of him left maybe, desert too she is a definite cougar. It is worrying how the woman could ever be a mother, or a grandmother.

Jackson eyes narrow slightly as he watches her intently. He can feel a small niggling thought in the back of his head as he observes her, knowing that he has seen her somewhere before, but unable to pinpoint exactly whom she was or where.

"Could you help me please?" The bottle blond pleads in a flirtatious tone, with huge eyes and still donning a large smile"

In a low voice, Lisa looks at Jackson's grimacing face, as she turns to look and smiles at the woman in question and trying her hardest not to chuckle at the situation. **"**Guess somebody needs a bellhop."

She is used to women checking him out, most women in her position would probably feel a little threatened by the prospect, as well as he is the same with Lisa although Jackson sometimes gets jealous. However, at the same time they respect each other too much, and recognize the value of each other too well to identify that cheating doesn't even enter their equation. However she can tell from her body language she was falling for his undeniable handsomeness and charm that seems to aura around him, to say the least, she seems highly flattered that he actually took notice of her; and she can see him cringe in his seat because of it. Lisa even would be jealous had it not been for the fact that, she looks like an older Barbie that her oldest daughter would play with, and that Jackson hasn't looked at the woman or any other for that matter in the entire 10 minutes she has been on the plane.

Giving her an uncomfortable smile, he starts wondering if he could kill this woman without anyone noticing she was gone, and then thought better of it_. _There is one thing he cannot stand, even more than empty-headed air hostesses, is a ditzy blonde, one-night stand type of women being obvious in their flirting and pretending they are useless in that calculating sultry look women tended to throw in his direction. Especially when it is an older woman, who obviously watching too many Housewife shows and should know better, while also being restricted in the confines of a metal structure that is travelling mid-air with no prospect of an escape route, and his wife is next to him. He likes strong women, which is why he married Lisa Reisert, strong, beautiful, intelligent, resourceful, caring woman he has ever met. However, right now, without even looking at the woman's face he can tell she is looking at him as though he is a delectable idiot for the taking, right in front of his wife, and noticing how much taller she is to him. He signs to Lisa, with an exasperated look on his face, not caring if she can see or not, she will not understand it anyway. "God, can she tell were married"

He has been trained over the years to be invisible; he can fit in almost everywhere, in all classes and societies because he has been honed to do so to get to a target. However, there is no use bringing attention to them, a challenge for even to a resourceful man such as Jackson Rippner, on the plane. He does not need people unnecessarily snooping around, and asking questions that do not concern them.

Lisa says drolly to him with a cheeky smile, as she leans in a little closer, but still keeping some personal space between them, as if to offer a secret**.** "Well, she's probably jealous of us."

Jackson sighs and tries to concentrate, with humor lit his bright eyes and with a slight teasing smile, as he studies her looking at her light intelligent eyes, and prompting another blush to rise in her cheeks. "Leese don't start please."

Once Lisa prompts him, again with her elbow in his side, taking him away from the fun, he was having with his wife and in the midst of his jaw clenched. He reluctantly unbuckles his seatbelt and gets up from his seat his leg brushing against hers and away from Lisa to help Shelia. Making sure, he plasters a smile on his face, however his smile is too broad to be genuine.

The woman is now shamelessly flirting with him, he keeps trying to remind her he is married by showing her the ring and looking at Lisa, who keeps sniggering her shoulders begin to shake, smiling and shaking her head at him when he does. However, Shelia doesn't seem to take the bait or relent, it just makes her attempt more, while a bemused Jackson stretches his arms up, taking out the Blonde's not so heavy unwieldy clunking suitcase quickly, her fingers staying on his for a second too long as far as he is concerned. As he tries to think of something else, he has conceal a small shudder at the thought and her touch, and it brings his thoughts back to the blonde his helping, merely smiling at her as he quickly tries to extricate her fingers from his. Grinning having composed himself, he gives the suitcase one last shove before it slipped into the slot, glad it is finally going to get into the small compartment. When he's finished the overhead door shuts with a satisfied click, and he can get away from her in lightening speed, because her expression now is the desperate attempt for him to give her his phone number.

"Just when I thought there weren't any gentlemen left," she purrs, leaning closer to him, leering at him with an awful attempt of being seductive.

He shakes his head in skepticism, before he makes his way back to his seat and sits back down, straightening his shirt out as he puts his seatbelt on, turning his head to look over at Lisa who is facing the window and from the reflection, he can see that she is still giggling with her hand covering her mouth. "Oh, my," he exhales noisily

Jackson watches his wife grinning as she laughs, wishing that she would turn and face him, so he could see her wonderful face at that moment; wishing that he could see the way the laughter always seems to light up her beautiful green eyes, the same way his daughters do, and his grin grows larger at her. Lisa turns around and faces him, her expression affectionate and intelligent, a smile showing off her dimples wickedly, and he knows exactly what she is about to do and say. "She is definitely a bottle blonde, and she old enough to be a grandmother to our children."

He chuckles, his dimples also now noticeable, a chuckle that resounds deep in the back of his throat and he presses his lips to Lisa's cheek, and speaks in a low voice**.** "I think Livie would go into hiding if she saw her, Emmy not sure, and Millie would be writing her observations."

Enjoying Jackson's affectionate touch, Lisa's green eyes flash at him mischievously, still bright with laughter, but looking deep into her, he can see the sadness underneath the daytime persona. "I would actually agree with you on that." She answers, and looks into his eyes and nods feeling exposed.

His smile becomes a grin, thinking that maybe everything else will have to wait. "I don't blame you." All of a sudden, his phone rings again in the silence of the cabin; he sighs annoyed by the interruption, he then looks at Lisa with an apologetic look.

Lisa watches him; her eyes are tender and she laughs slightly.** "**Well, you are popular tonight Mr. Rippner**."**

Jackson gives her a sincere smile; he reaches quickly to unclip the phone from his belt, and takes the phone, feeling every bit as frustrated as she is trying not to sound**. "**No, it's okay." He turns his head and looks at the number on the phone, an odd look crossing his face. He did not want to make the fact that he knew who was calling too blatant**. "**As you know it isn't usually like this." He states truthfully with another apologetic smile.

"Jackson go ahead, its fine." Lisa replies thoughtfully, turning back to the magazine in her lap in an attempt to give him as much privacy as possible in the confined space.

Jackson smiles again, hitting the talk button, and placed the phone to his ear, as bushy brows lower slightly**.**" Hey, what's up?" Jackson greets the voice on the other end of the line shortly.

"Are you both on the plane right now?" The deep gruffly voice on the other end asks, pauses for a moment, and then continues. "Is it okay for us to talk?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Jackson glances at Lisa, from the corner of his eyes noticing as she is looking out of the window. "No, it's okay." He answers, rubbing his lips with the tip of his index finger.

"Good, things are going to plan, although they are wide-awake and watching me and the other car from her bedroom window through her binoculars."

Jackson's heart stopped, as he heard the words, but keeps his expression stoic his eyes not easily readable. He knew something like this would happen. Brad is only supposed to be monitoring them and instead they had seen his employee in his car. He has never been pleased with the arrangements they had made, it is far too risky a bad idea from the beginning. He stares straight ahead, trying to remain calm his blood boiling, so not to rouse suspicion in Lisa who is now reading the in-flight magazine. He sighs and nods, It will mean changing the plan slightly, but he could do it is a smart thing to do and his a quick thinking manager It is all part of his job. "Uh huh." He says although it is nothing, trying to keep his tone of voice as normal as possible, and clears his throat.

"He is having a hard time, trying to put them to bed." The voice pauses, shuffling papers, the creaking of leather is apparent too.

Jackson can feel the irritation wells up in his chest, and filters through to his words as he speaks. "Uh huh, that's expected."

"Right, well the hit is still on for 5:30 and I will keep an eye."

Jackson replies simply, rubbing his chin with his left hand, feeling the two-day-old stubble, feeling as though it is turning coarser like sandpaper beneath his fingers. "Okay so done deal!"

"I'll do whatever I feel is necessary but do it right. Got it?"

"Got it, thanks Brad." Jackson replies in his managerial tone, with irritation sweeping over him again, but also relief.

"Good I'll be in touch soon with an update sir." The voice says automatically in a confirmatory tone as if he said this a thousand times before, and then a moment later the phone clicked, signaling the call is over.

Jackson is exasperated, as he pulls the phone from his ear and turns it off. He doesn't have time for this shit, why couldn't he just do plan A. It was supposed to be a simple task, and back to work, having a wonderful time with his daughter's before they go to school. Schooling his voice and expression, he gives a slight smile as he places the phone back in its place on his hip and clears his throat. "Work For the last time." He says, with an exasperated voice.

The flight crew doing their final rounds before takeoff and give the pre-flight instructions and for everyone to buckle up.

Lisa nods and hums in agreement, as he sounds particularly annoyed at having their conversation interrupted looking at the in-flight magazine, she finally looks up, to look at his profile, and notices that his gaze was still locked on the seat in front of him. While feeling slightly peeved herself that, his job is already, phoning him and wanting to take him from her. "They're still phoning you, when you told them not to because of the funeral?" She asks, she can immediately sense a change of character around Jackson after the call, but puts it down to work annoying him.

Jackson almost laughs at the irony of her question, his gaze moves to Lisa dragging his gaze from the boring blue fabric of the chair and he smiles adding a lighthearted laugh. "Yer well I think they put a tracking device on me?" He grumbles, running both his hands through his thick dark hair, smoothing out the mess while straightening up in the chair. "It doesn't matter it's done now that was work hopefully for the last time." He looks at his wife, drinking in her features, she always looks so sad. Even when she smiles, it's as if she blockades all emotions to be more distant from anyone who tried to approach her. He hates it, and the thing is whenever he asks her, he never finds out why, but he knows it has something to do with the same feelings he has.

Suddenly, sounding like a high school principle who despises her student, the snobbish voice from senior flight attendant began to speak dully into the microphone and in a bored manner out a welcome message and the usual rehearsed flight regulations. Lisa reached into her bag and shut off her phone; well aware of Jackson's eyes following her every move. She tried, in vain, to control her shaking hands and quickly clasped her hands in her lap, her nails biting deep into her skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The captain's voice resounds over the intercom in a familiar robotic voice announcing their clearance for takeoff, including what his name is. He proceeds to tell everyone about his successful flights in the past. By the sounds of it, he is either trying to make everyone feel safe, or his extremely conceited, Lisa is leaning towards the second. As she predicted earlier, and as the Captain has now warned in their usual, 'try to remain calm voices, because I am the best at what I do intentions', that they might have a little inconvenience with the weather and turbulence may possibly shake the cabin. Lisa obviously feels the exact opposite of what the pilot wants her to, and has to fight the urge to run into the cockpit, and hurt the pilot.

The flight crew does their final rounds, before takeoff, while the red headed attendant gives the flight instructions and reminders, in a monotonous bored voice from the speaker, over the whirling of the engines and the hydraulics getting the aircraft ready to move. As both of them make sure, they buckled up securely, the plane has only just begun to take off heading for the air, and Lisa grips the edge of her chair. As soon as she got her hopes up, for a turbulence-free flight, the plane starts to shake and shudder ferociously; the 767 rumbles deafeningly away from the terminal, as the rain is thundering down on the plane. Lisa can feel her hands stiffening and tightening to the armrest further, her knuckles going completely white, even as she closes her eyes tight in fear. Trying hard to block herself hearing a group of kids somewhere behind her, who are actually fucking enjoying this; seemingly agitating Lisa even more, as they start trundling towards the end of the runway as the lights in the distance, shine in contrast to the dark sky through the small oval windows. She wants to stand up; she wants to shout as loud as she can for them to stop.

The minute the plane begins to roll, and gain momentum on the runway, after a rather large and rough bump, the plane is in the air, in a weary but gratified manner, Jackson flips up his sleeve to reveal his expensive watch on which he began to turn a dial to Florida time again. As he, settles back for the ride against the cheap blue man made scratchy material they call a headrest brusquely against his scalp, trying hard to gain custody of his wife's clammy hand but failing miserably at the attempts.

Whereas Lisa exhales, while feels her heart begin to race, thumping hard against her chest, as if she has ran a marathon and her breath quickens, her hands are now tightening on her leather purse as her feet are shifting on the floor. Not feeling settled at all, like an inpatient child waiting for the school bell to ring at the end of the day, and her knuckles turning even whiter as they shake violently at the pressure of her grip. Her eyes are clenched tightly shut; her face is set in a perpetual grimace her face scrunches up causing her frown line to show, while her ears are popping as the pressure builds up because the plane is bouncing around trying to find some clean air. At the same time as this is all happening, she is quietly questioning herself in a strained voice, as she attempts to humour herself and Jackson in the process**.** "I was hoping we could have a nice relaxing flight, god I hate flying."

Jackson leans towards her ear to talk to her, his voice is smooth, gentle, and soothing, he can see her forcing herself to breathe and to remain calm. He thinks it will be a good distraction for her from the turbulence, if he starts talking to her about the girls and her father, as she is looking a little uneasy and he answers her tenderly while also sympathetically. "I know." He begins his full lips curl into a half smile, as he thinks about the little girls at home waiting for them to come home, and what trouble that they will have once they get to the beach. Because Rippner girls + daddy + beach = A whole lot of chaos and mayhem, waiting to happen. He knows that, what he is going to saying has to lead up to what is important to her and something she can keep her mind on. "But it won't be long, and we'll be home with the girls playing on the beach, giving your dad a break." He says, as he is finally able to take custody of her hand, entwining his fingers around hers and squeezing her fingers in return as the wheels leave the tarmac, his thumb slowly stroking the sides of her thumbs. He gradually feels her relax a little, shoulders loosen slightly, from their hunched position, but enough to indication that it is starting to work.

The plane sways violently causing Lisa to grip the armrests tighter and clench her entire body in fear, making Lisa shake her head, keeping her eyes closed, almost squeezing tears from them, whilst she is absorbing the question. She lets out a small labored groan; until she feels her heart beat decline at the pace; it is suppose to be, she doesn't answer at first, trying to concentrate on what she is about to say and fully assimilate the fact that he was touching her. After that, with one last deep breath, she slowly opens her eyes, looking at the headrest in front of her, and answers with a small smile she replies. "Sandcastles, as we try to coax Livie into the sea." She pauses as the plane gave a particularly hard jerk, a small whimper escapes from her throat and she looks away to the small oval window, at the pitch-black sky, and her own indistinguishable reflection for a second to consider her answer. She turns her head back to the front, and looks at the headrest once more, sill with a smile on her face. "Millie and Emily run around after daddy, as they try to soak you with buckets of sea water, while my dad, is worrying about us needing to have alone time."

He cannot help but smile and nods, carefully regarding Lisa, while thinking about how surprised the girls were going to be when they get home. "Livie draws a gallery worth of new masterpieces for the fridge, and Millie writes in her top secret spy diary." He bursts into a fully-fledged grin as he answers; the kind you get when you know something funny is going to happen. "About somebody who looks suspicious because they are sweating a great deal and stands out, or something of that kind, and Emily helping them both while playing with her princess dolls, which always makes us smile, and afterwards yours and Emily's favorite, spaghetti at your dads for dinner. Before we put the little monsters in their beds, finally exhausted and sound asleep, so we are able to have some alone time with a bottle of wine, popcorn, and a couple of hours of TiVo."

Lisa Responds, her breathing becoming a little easier, she laughs in trepidation and in reaction to what Jackson had just said. "Yer they do, don't they, sounds like quite a day?"

As the plane gives one last tremble and then settles levelling out, she turns her head and smiles wearily at Jackson. Over the PA system, the pilot's voice drifts through as he assures the passengers they are safe. She sighs and relaxes, her shoulders dropping after the intense situation and gradually releases the death grip from his hand, she continues to smile while she thinks more clearly about what he just said; she knows her father asked Jackson the question about coming around for dinner. He is always trying to persuade them over for dinner, so they could leave the girls with him, and have some time alone. Ever since that day two years ago, he continuously tries to get the girls to stay with him for the night and for her and Jackson to have dinner, before they do, as he always makes extra, there is always an adequate amount for everybody including a small African country.

"Thank you for distracting me, you're always good at that." She says with an appreciative smile, the little therapy session he just put her through always really seems to be successful, a diversion that he likes to appropriately title: How to Distract Lisa, When She Is Worried about something. Which he always wins of course, and Lisa is permanently thankful for that. It seemed that she could not stop humiliating herself in front of him, and yet he was always there for her.

"Well that wasn't what I was doing exactly." Jackson says as he smiles flatly losing the magnitude of charm, he usually possesses, with his smiles. The expression still not reaching his eyes, shrugging, and his beautiful face says Prince Charming, but his voice is just as flat, while his clear eyes empty and deader than the Dead Sea and says Prince of Darkness. He pauses, pursing his lips slightly while swallowing the huge lump that has been accumulating there over the past 20 minutes, thinking about what he is going to do her and how messed up this all is. Jackson knows all about carrying guilt so does Lisa, how it can really ruin you inside leaving part of you dead and eating away at you. What that can do to a person, he does not want any more, not for a second time, they do not need the rest to be eaten away even more at their cautiousness.

Uncomfortable now, Lisa with a frown gracing her eyebrows looks at him and does not reply for a moment, subsequently, she gazes at him with frank concern written all over her features. Watching him suspiciously, as his Adams apple bobs prominently, because he is swallowing so hard. She has seen that look before, and it scared her then, as much as it is scaring her now. "What were you trying to do Jackson?"

Jackson turns his head away from her abruptly, and steals a swift glance around the plane, in the direction of the sea of exhausted and worn out people wishing he could do the same. Subsequently he stops unexpectedly when he detects someone, on his far left and furrows his brows together in complete realization. He then slowly and deliberately turns his head back to his wife, with a solemn expression on his face, starts studying her features further. The heaviness of the situation, takes place bearing down on him like a ton of weights, causing his head to hurt with the pressure. He does not want to do this, it is just he needs to do this, to stop corruption, greed, and what might happen if he does not do this. Right now, it is beyond his control, and he has to find a way to reclaim the control back, because if he does not, bad things are going to happen to his family, he does not want to see that again.

**"**I'm just trying to keep the focus on you, the girls, and your father." He says in a cold, toneless, and low voice, sounding colder than he intends it to be. As he lowers the tray in front of Lisa, and drops his thick leather wallet on the table. It opens without him even looking, so the expandable plastic sleeves full of pictures opens, to a picture of Joe, him and the girls are all covered from head to toe in a multitude of colored paints, in the garden. Instead of using, the large piece of paper in front of them, the girls or more distinctively little Olivia, thought of making use of daddy and grandpa as a substitute canvas. There they all were sitting on the grass, the twins with enormous lopsided smiles, large gorgeous clear blue and green eyes looking mischievous on each of their little elfin faces, looking all so delighted of their efforts of being silly. Whilst little Olivia, with her big green eyes, looks shyly through her longish red fringe into the camera, they had just caught her, as she is about to look away and hide her face in her daddy's t-shirted chest. Jackson in the meantime cannot gaze at their cheerful little faces, which are looking up and him and Lisa, showing them as contented and relaxed. Their children have grown up with two supportive parents, who adore them to no end, and have been there every step of the way for them, and now he is wondering what their relationship, including the exquisite woman next to him was going to be like after this is all over.

Lisa stares at the photograph on show, while tears start appearing in her eyes, along with her hands wanting to reach out, so her fingertips can caress the faces of their daughters on the smooth picture as though they are here, and tell them everything is okay. After that, she looks up at Jackson, her left hand gripping the rest, while her thumb is instinctively pressing firmly on the call bell. "What are you talking about Jackson? Is everything okay?" She says as she looks him straight in the eyes, and tries to determine what he is feeling, what he means by saying all of this. She usually finds him reasonably open, sometimes he is hard to read, and this is unquestionably one of those times. They are Jackson's babies; he loves them too much to let anybody harm them. She will kill Jackson and anybody, who even try to, lay a hand on, or harms a single hair on any of their little girls' bodies.

He glares implacably severe, his face is a stoic façade, of its former self, and she has not caught sight of him like this in a while, that would be 2 years, 7 months, and 27 days ago in truth. Nevertheless, he has to; he has to make sure she knows that this is life threatening. Their world is so honest, clean, quiet, sincere like him, she believes in her job and being a good parent to their children, always giving them both her best effort. How can he tell her, how can he convey to her in a mere sentence, how bad he feels doing this to her this warm-hearted, do-no-wrong, elegant, the most consistently perplexing, perfect woman he has ever met, and he has been married to for 8 years. Somehow, he has always known that she is the 100 per cent perfect woman for him, everytime he see her. He only knows that nothing is going to go as intended, and is not helping the situation, getting back the control for both their sakes is the most important thing is can do right now and that's what he is going do.

"Charles Keefe one of your regulars at the hotel, Rings any bells?" He extenuates the last part, making a popping noise with his lips when he says the B and hissing the SS to make his point.

Tears fill her eyes as she turns to him; she swallows, hating how vulnerable she feels from him, being like this. Her heart is pounding, and a lump is staring to form in her throat. **"**No why should it Jackson, what's going on?" She sighs as she answers; she is terrified of the fear and confusion bubbling up inside of her. She has to think this through, very carefully.

"Yes it should, and that's why you need to keep listening Leese, if you want your dad and our daughters to live." Jackson clenches and unclenches his jaw before turning back to her, trying to appear relaxed before he talks again, keeping the same tone in his voice. "I know he's on his way to your hotel Leese, and I know as your husband that you have the power to switch his room."

"Jackson I'm freelance, I'm only there to train, handle complaints, and coordinate events you know that." Lisa answers exasperated by what she has just heard, looking in his eyes, and by the sound of him, this is not the Jackson, she knows and loves. The recent booking, his team made under a secret alias, and ensured to be untraceable back to Keefe himself. Jackson should know that, working for the government all these years.

Money is never an issue for them, Jackson's career did have its benefits, and the only reason that Lisa continues to work is that if she did not, she is certain that she would simply go insane with boredom. As she has been and will always be a workaholic, although with their 3 little ones on the go, she is always just as busy and on her toes, along with their 3 kittens, and if the twins had their way a puppy too. Since the girls go to kindergarten and special schools now, she can just pop into the hotel until it is time to pick them up, or if she has to work late, then Jackson picks them up, but they always try to pick them up together. Working freelance as a General Manager enjoy a more desirable work schedule consisting of a more traditional business day and having weekends and holidays off. This in addition means that, she has time to get the house in order, while they are at school, and she is overall managing and organizing or dealing with complaints, of hotel staff and guests. Nevermind her dealing with the arduous task of doing plenty of budgeting and financial management, while furthermore creating and enforcing business objectives and long term goals, managing new exciting projects and renovations to attract more business. While also managing emergencies and other major issues involving guests, employees, or the facility, public relations with the media, local governments, and other businesses, with many additional duties to contend with. However, she is also doing something constructive at the same time, as an alternative to watching monotonous daytime TV all day. Jackson would not want it any other way, otherwise she would not be the Lisa he knows and loves.

Jackson answers back, his voice still sounding relentless and extremely intense. "Well I happen to know you do baby, and that's why you need to keep listening; if you want to see Joe and our children alive when we get home."

"Why are you doing this Jackson?" Lisa asks as she sits silently in disbelief, trying to keep her tone down, which is proving more difficult by the minute. She stares at Jackson and she cannot tell if he is concerned about her or infuriated. She does not say anything else but just keeps staring at him as though her eyes can beat the information out of him. However, she can unquestionably see the expression on his face, the air of determination, and something else in his eyes that terrifies her.

Jackson can see the frightened bewilderment on her face, and answers in kind. He can practically see the wheels in her head working as she absorbs his words. "Because I need to Leese, and it needs to be done tonight."

"Are my dad and the girls in danger?" She tries to keep her voice level, as she looks at him with steely determination. She knows he is a bad liar, and she knows that he would not do this intentionally, unless he really had to. However, why is he concerned with Charles Keefe? Why is he doing this tonight, of all nights? It has already been, a hard enough, day for them as it is, and she does not know about Jackson, but she is physically and emotional drained.

"No, not as long as you make the phone call Leese." Jackson answers with the same expression, only his voice laced with regret, worry, anger, and something else that cannot be deciphered.

Lisa has tendrils of anger and betrayal spiraled up from the knotted pit of her stomach. Jackson looks more serious, more intimidating. However, that does not matter because the safety of any mother's children are more important than how intimidating someone is, even if it is your own husband. "What's going to happen if I don't make the call?" She asks her voice thick with emotion, and wavering substantially.

"You and I bury your dad and our daughter's in a closed casket, and you wouldn't want that would you Lisa, because I certainly don't." He answers immediately, his blue showing a mixture of anger and deep sadness along with the tone in his voice. As he tries to swallow the statement, he has just announced to his wife, and the images of their little elfin faces racing in his head, along with counting Joe's into the body count and identifying their bodies.

Tears that are swarming in Lisa's vision are easy to blink away, but tries as hard as she can, to force down the thick sense of nausea that accompanied Jackson's words is much harder. "No, I don't want that, I want to talk to my dad, I need to know they are okay?" She answers defiantly although with the same deep sadness Jackson also has, and when she looks directly into his eyes. She can see a flicker, that he is repulsed by this, just as much as she is, but it will not stop her from knowing that her little ones are safe at home for now.

"Leese the last call I received from Brad, he reported that your dad was sitting in Livie's bedroom coaxing her back to sleep. While Emily is trying to help him, and Millie is looking out of the window for us, along with her collection of action figures." Jackson says, underneath the seriousness, there is a slight hesitation in his voice.

Her chin buckles, while despair floods all her senses, even as she pinches her eyes shut as tight as she can, and grudgingly lets the burning and stinging tears slide past the lashes onto her cheeks tickling them. He looks threatening to her, and she does not know what to do. She is 30,000 feet in the air, trapped between a window and her usually loving husband, who is scaring her to her very core. All of a sudden, she comes to a realization, as she quickly blinks away the tears currently stinging in her eyes, and looks back at Jackson. She asks, with traces of distress in her voice, underneath her managerial tone. "So, who is going to kill my dad, and our daughters Jackson?"

Just as Jackson is about to answer her, he stops, and notices how beautiful she looks, like a pale rose, on a picturesque rainy summer's day, with a small patch of crimson hue developing on her cheeks. All he wants to do is reach out, grab her, so he can hold her close to him, and reassure her that everything was going to be all right, they were going to get through this.

All of a sudden, like a magician, a flight attendant, the gentle African-American woman, strides down the aisle, pausing at their seats and crouches down in front of them, breaking the proceedings and the thick, intense, apprehensive, with added overused second hand air between them and Jackson's training picked up on it right away.

"Is everything okay here?" She inquires in a kind and gentle voice, looking between the couple with a sympathetic expression.

Jackson gives her an identical apologetic smile, as he holds he his hand with his wedding ring for emphasizes, feeling just as upset himself. "My wife is just a little upset. You see, we've just come from the funeral of a dear family member…" He looks at his wife expectantly, his eyes flashing a warning, indicating that they will finish this when she is gone. Lisa's eyes begin to tear up once more, ahead of turning back to the flight attendant with the same smile he had before.

The flight attendant looks between the both of them, with genuine compassion in her expression and voice. "Oh, I'm so sorry." She bows her head slightly in condolence, before lifting it up again and with a courteous smile. "Is there anything I can get you? Some water, tissues…?"

"Water would be great, thank you." Lisa croaks her throat instantly feeling constricted and dry, as if she is trying to swallow a mouthful of sharp nails down her throat, while with a grief-stricken smile she looks at the dark haired attendant.

"Okay, I'll get you some water and tissues. Feel better hun." She says with a compassionate kindhearted smile, which seems to radiate in her eyes, as well as her kind and gentle voice so naturally, it's as if you are receiving sympathy from a good friend.

Lisa is still displaying a melancholy smile on her lips, for the flight attendant, waiting for her seatmate to go ballistic or say something. When the attendant finally leaves them alone again, Lisa glares at him through the curtain of her hair, grinding her teeth with pure blind venom. While Jackson seems to have a faraway look in his eyes, before he turns to her leaning close and his voice seems to have softened somewhat, but still harsh enough to get his point across. "That was great Leese, although you might want to bottle the emotions a little." The words and tone sting her deep inside, causing her, to glare at him even more callously with her red and puffy eyes through painful stinging tears. She wonders if he is saying it to himself to stop the worrying thoughts going through his head, and the emotions that want to spill out, as well as for her benefit.

To the flight attendant and anyone else on the plane, the couple might look as though they are just having a bad time because of the flight, perhaps fighting even. However, no one would have guessed that Jackson and she are the only ones to know that, it is more than the upset of the funeral, or an argument that is going on at the moment; it also runs much deeper than that.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile back at the house, an exhausted somnolent looking Joe, stands by the window of Olivia's bedroom, looking out at the dark night upon the empty quiet street below. His face is full of worry, disgruntlement, and awareness, with a restless, distraught, and extremely tired Olivia is in his arms; her entire little body is tense and needy as she clings to her grandfather's thick neck, he assumes she is upset or over stimulated. Holding her tightly in his arms, even as she is crying and fat tears roll down her round little face, along with her screams the pierces the air as she whines discontentedly, as if she does not feel safe. She bangs her little head and tiny legs ferociously hard against him, causing his face to wince in pain, but carries on consoling her regardless. He tries his best to calm her down from a nightmare, rubbing her back in small gentle circles, humming, and soft calming whispers of sweet nothings into her sticky hair. Even though he knows, she may not respond to his attention when he tries to address her, by calling her name. Aware that, poor little Olivia has been unable to sleep at night because of them. Her pyjamas are soaking wet, as well as completely soiled, and Joe does not know how to handle her tonight, he is having a hard time taking them off, so he can give her a nice bath, the last few nights haven't been so bad. Although he looks almost ready to collapse at anytime, as he kisses the little auburn haired girl on the top of her head, before he whispers softly that, it is all right, that she does not have to be afraid.<p>

Olivia may look like an average 4 year old, however she does in fact have somewhat mild special needs, and the fact she is a light sleeper, though at the moment she seems to be having bad nightmares, that she draws in her pictures only not really saying anything about them. The family understanding from experience and copious amounts of therapy, that the most conspicuous sign of an autistic child is the child's failure to communicate properly, nor does she truly understand cause and effect. This nearly stopped Jackson and Lisa from going on their trip, to Texas to see her mother, because they did not know how he was going to handle the situation. However, Joe persuaded them she should be fine, and it was no more than a couple of days for them to assist her mother with the funeral and attend, before the long anticipation of Olivia and the twins starting school in a couple of days time.

Joe hugs his granddaughter tighter and shuffles all the way back until he hits the pale yellow wall behind him. When her screams pierces the room again, he places a soft gentle kiss on both of her burning hot red chubby cheeks, rocking her gently in time with the curtains that are being blown by the light breeze, unsure of what to say to her, because just like her, he doesn't feel safe either.


	5. Chapter 5

A uthors note – I would like to thank the punctuator for all her help, and putting up with me keep asking questions. I would also like to recommend, that you read her "In Time" fic "Viral. Thanks to ThisIsChiKaOnFFdotNet and Jk for reviewing, my story and you're enjoying it.

**Chapter 5**

They are sitting in heavy deafening silence, the air feeling hot and clammy; Lisa is using this time to collect her thoughts, leaving her mind to its own devices, and trying to work out in head what is going on and the best way to work around it. Consequently, she turns to him; she's glaring sharp pointed daggers at him with fierce and fiery emeralds that have turned sinister, a death stare that could rival Jackson's in a staring contest. He's made the drastic and undignified mistake of threatening the girls, his own flesh and blood; this is a stare down Jackson isn't going to win or want to win, because of the detrimental cost that lay ahead if he does. She snarls the words at him, hearing Jackson's tone in her own voice, and hopes this accentuates her point. "What's going on Jackson, what aren't you telling me? Because I'm going to say, go ahead with your closed casket threat Jackson. Go ahead and see what a pathetic little man you are, for betraying me, and betraying our family, for the sake of a job." She swallows hard still keeping her eyes on him, before she continues with her justifiable tirade on him. "As well as threatening not only an older man, but also 3 little girls, 1 of which is more vulnerable than the other 2."

While sitting uncomfortably in his seat fidgeting, as if he is a naughty schoolchild lectured on what he has done wrong and awaiting the punishment. Suddenly making Jackson's cold eyes now defrosted a bit and his expression softens, looking slightly more like the same way as when they had been talking at the airport**. **He's worried, angry with himself, and ashamed of what he is doing, as his eyes stray to her belly, playing with his glistening metal wedding band on his left hand as though it is irritating him, in addition to fighting the urge to vomit. Whilst he thinks of how she gave him the little creatures that are at home that he has just been threatening, and that the woman in front of him, who has the right to be this way, she is the mother of those beautiful children.She needed to be worrying that her father was okay, sitting in their home reading three little excitable girls a bedtime story, and then getting them to go back to bed, not worrying about whether or not there is some creep lurking outside of their front doors. He chews his lower lip thoughtfully, working out the best way to explain all this crap to her. Knowing she is only trying to protect them; she is instinctively looking after her young. When his eyes finally look back up and see Lisa holding her ground, able to break through the act he is putting on, keeping her eyes level, and being as fearless as she has ever been before, he knows his in perpetual hell, and anything he says at this moment is going to earn him in deeper trouble.

Meanwhile Lisa watches Jackson, and can feel a muscle began to twitch in her jaw, while her heart is thudding in her chest, and deafeningly in her ears. She can feel, the burning hot tears starting to form in her eyes again. Frustration is an awful fear, along with her heart pounding hard in her chest, and she takes a deep breath, slowly releasing it, as she narrows her eyes, and states at him her voice is furious, consistent, andindomitable as she speaks**.** "I'm not stupid Jackson; please don't treat me like a fool, because you can watch as I unleash unholy hell on you, before I get a divorce from you, and move the girls and me out of the house." She knows that Jackson is a great husband, and an even better father, when his not threatening their lives.

Frowning perversely Jackson looks at his wife, who is looking vulnerable yet strong; his voice softens as he answers her, shaking his head and knowing the threat she has just given him is the truth. She is being serious with him; this is not to be taken lightly. "Leese I don't think you are one. I also don't want that to happen, I love you and the kids too much to hurt you all."

With her jaw beginning to shake, she has to fight to sound calm. A lone tear breaks free and runs down her greasy right cheek, like a raindrop; she catches it savagely with the heel of her hand. "Well if I'm not that stupid Jackson, and you love us as much as you say you do, why aren't you telling me what's going on? Why are our children and my dad in danger, huh?" She asks him, through her teeth with bitterness in her voice.

Without hesitation, Jackson answers her immediately, his voice almost too soft to be heard but had real unadulterated emotion behind the words. His eyes showing how sorry is for doing this, to her. "Leese if I could I would, but right now, you just need to keep playing along with this."

Lisa looks at him now without any fear, she looks at him attentively, and her eyes are unblinking, right at the man in front of her, her husband. The man that promised her 8 years ago, that he would protect her and keep her and their children safe from harm. The same muscle in Lisa's jaw begins to twitch again; along with fresh anger, and she whispers to him, still trying to get this**. **Why does he want Keefe to change his room? What difference is it going to make? It simply sounds too weird, especially when the kids and her father are involved.** "**Why do you want me to move Keefe Jackson, what are you going to do to him?"

Jackson speaks coldly and condescendingly to her, though his eyes are still apologizing for his actions. "Right now, I just want to wait for your water and Kleenex. Then we might have our privacy back and can get right back to business." He sees Lisa's face is now streaked with tears, and a sharp pain occurs in his chest making it tighten significantly, that stabbing guilt pain he knows very well.

The cabin is now feeling cold and eerily quiet, Jackson and Lisa say nothing to each other for the next couple of minutes, patiently waiting for the flight attendant to come and go, before they got down to business. Both of them thinking and trying to get their heads around the situation, which through no fault of their own has occurred. Looking at the phone, and then when the other isn't looking, they take turns looking at each other's profiles. Lisa quickly begins making a mental list of everything that Jackson does that bugs her. She glances over at Jackson, looking for extra anger-fueled inspiration. Thankfully, which to them felt like hours, the gentle flight attendant returns with a small bottle of water, with a blue label with Fresh Air printed across it in white lettering along with a packet of pocket-sized tissues in her hands. Bending down beside Jackson again, she hands them to Jackson with a small sympathetic smile, which Jackson returns in kind. He answers her softly, adding a tip of his head. It was as if Lisa wasn't there. Jackson spoke for her, making sure she didn't do anything she'd regret later, and giving her some more time to think. The attendant says something about Lisa feeling better, and if they need anything else just let her know. Lisa doesn't care enough at the moment to listen, but knows she has to keep pretenses. "Thank you," she replies numbly, not really knowing why she is thanking her.

Once she stands and smiles again, heading back down the aisle to her work uninterested and disgruntled colleague. Jackson turns to face the love of his life, and holds the water bottle in front of her, offering her a drink, knowing he needs it just as much as her. The only reply he gets is a 'Yeah right!' with her eyes, as she looks at him as if he is stupid, and with well-deserved mistrust. Sighing, he takes a sip himself before he puts the lid back on. He takes his time, as if he is making a point out of it, he is hopefully succeeding in giving Lisa and the agents the impression that he is truly in charge here and that he is not apprehensive about this situation at all. He can feel his anger rising, his blood boiling below the surface. How dare she insinuate that he didn't love his daughters of course he does?

Back to the reality of the situation, Lisa is still giving him the death stare for dragging their family into a mess, while she licks her dry lips, and regretting not taking the water from him; however, she isn't going to let him know that. "Who are they Jackson, and what do they have over you? How many enemies have you pissed off over the past 13 years Jackson, can you _think_ of any off the top of your head?" She asks him, trying to keep a façade of coolness; while her heart is pounding so hard, it is leaving her breathless it must be obvious and audible even to Jackson.

He looks away from her, his eyes darting around the cabin, he didn't want her to see him lose control, even if was only for a moment. When he turns back, he looks at her dead in the eyes, ashamed and feeling guilty, as he swallows hard. "I think one or two more than I should have, Leese." He answer her quietly sheepish, as the thought hit him like a ton of bricks; the ones he can think of are a few serial killers, rapists, pedophiles, assassins, and high-class criminals, the cream of the crop, so to speak.** "**I'm sorry." He whispers after quietly also and throws in for good measure, as he places his hand on her chin gently to face him, scrutinizing her features.

That is when Lisa takes the opportunity to look into his translucent, expressive eyes again,to see truth, guilt, shame, and sadness at what he is doing is still there. In any other circumstances, she would have admired that ability, but right now, she doesn't know what to think. "You should be Jackson, you could have told me earlier." She replies, also very quietly with gritted teeth- especially as she's also aware, that they're being watched. Lisa's expression softens slightly, too now. She's still mad at him- mad as hell in fact and he can't blame her for that— in particular for bringing their family into whatever he's gotten himself mixed up in, but she loves him. In addition, she is, of course, the all-time champion all-rounder, and the people pleaser, the one who gets things done. Leaving the two of them, to stare at each other silently, it is a tense silence between them, before he concedes.

All of a sudden Jackson leans into his wife slightly as if to kiss her, and with a soothing, yet assertive voice. He tries to explain as much as he can as his lips graze hers as he spoke, nuzzling her nose with his, with hot breathe that tickles her lips. "All right, the nearest I can tell you at the moment, and is extremely top secret. Is that Keefe is planning something big at your hotel. He's planning something that can be seen on CNN and Fox News, which can get breaking news, to cover his tracks and attempt to boost his ratings."

Once again, his lips are way too close, and she is thankful when he pulls away a bit. Leaving Lisa with her jaw dropped open and a confused frowns at him, afterwards she glances over her shoulder and behind Jackson, at the people in the seat behind them, she feels physically ill looking at him. Is someone else listening to this, or was she hallucinating? "So, you are a pawn in this game also; now there's a turn of events. So what are we going to do now?" She answers softly, as though she is speaking to one of the girls at bedtime. She is trying her hardest not to punch him in the face because of the situation; and has to bite her lip and clench her fists to prevent any unwanted facial expression, or violence to slip. Thinking how Keefe was the one who ordered it. It was planned. He knew.

Jackson looks down at her hands, and can see she wants to hurt him, but knows she also wants to do something about this. "Something like that Leese, but we are going to do something, together. I unwittingly pulled you and the kids into this Leese by forcing you to make the call that will murder a man and his family; I'm not going anywhere but you realize for there to be no retribution Keefe and his family have to die? It's the only way that we will both be free." He whispers to her, after panning his head around the cabin.

Once Jackson is facing her again, Lisa only stares, confused and slightly afraid, but remaining strong. The bile rises in her throat at the thought of killing his family, but also the thought of her own family. "There has to be another way, now I will play along even though I don't approve or understand for the life of me why it is, I just want your reassurance the girls and my dad are safe?" She whispers harshly back to him, sighing, while she fixes him with a relentless stare.

Jackson clears the lump in his, before his answers in a frustrated, but quiet apprehensive tone of voice, his eyes looking the same. "There's an agent of mine watching them and I have a feeling one of Keefe's is as well."

Lisa frowns, her eyes showing flashes of frustration and anger, the same tone in her voice, as she wonders when all this was planned. She asks in her managerial voice, avoiding his eyes, and her fists clenched. "Is he the guy who called you at the Tex-Mex and on the plane earlier?"

Jackson admires her energetic, stubborn defense of herself, and their loved ones, is getting to him. She is a break from the mold, independent, opinionated, stunning, and though the operation is squared away and his men know what to do, in case of danger it is more personal. "Yes, now can we just get on with this please?" He says softly, and he realizes that something in his tone has grabs hold of her attention; by the way, she is staring at him with some astonishment in her expression. He now has the upper hand, and all she can do is stay safe and play along.

"I have one more question; if Keefe's guy tries to touch any of the girls in any shape or form will your guy do something. Because I will personally hold you and they accountable, and you don't want that." She whispers, in a harsh warning tone, her eyebrows are narrow, to the point that her little frown line is showing. She takes a quick look around the dark cabin, to make sure nobody can hear, shifting slightly in the uncomfortable seat, and trying to suppress an exasperated sigh, seeing how near they are to other passengers who are relaxed, and sitting in the near-silence oblivious to the scene-taking place. The relief is overwhelming, and she takes a few deep breaths, trying to relax, prompting her to turn her head to look at him with narrowed brows and pursed lips. As she lifts her right arm up, and letting her right hands fingers run a hand through his hair, praying that, she is successfully keeping all the emotions she is feeling right now on her face.

"I know Leese, and I promise he won't hurt them, but if he does I will personally kill him myself, just trust me Leese this needs to be done." He looks at Lisa as the wheels in her mind turns, looking like she is calculating something in her head, trying to come up with a solution; he smiled at her then, searching her face with his eyes. He knows about her relationship with Charles Keefe – the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security. It was always Professional as it could be; she has built a very good relationship with the politician who had a habit of never trusting any one. Her head swam as she was trying to grasp the situation.

They talk quietly, formulating a small plan, until they are able to go somewhere where he can tell her everything. She is going to play along; act scared and put an Oscar winning performance on for the agents that are on the plane watching them. Hoping that this will convince them, Jackson had never wanted to do this in the first place, there was another plan, a plan that was a lot nicer and didn't involve the deep emotions of a trying day. Unfortunately, Henrietta died suddenly in her sleep, Keefe changed his plans three more times, and they had to hop quickly on a plane to Texas. He is just thankful they don't have the girls with them, he didn't want to think about them being understandably upset about their Nana, and then seeing daddy like this. No, they were at home with grandpa, in just as much danger as they would be with them. He hopes that they are fast asleep now, and dreaming of the fantastic imaginative adventures, they will be having tomorrow.

Jackson purses his lips, and with some effort sits, contemplating her small figure and what he is about to say to her. He says in a flat voice, while the blue fire in his eyes burning into Lisa. "I need you to call your hotel." He pauses for a moment, and relaxes a little, as he is waiting for some form of a reaction almost friendly again, so sure that they are convincing the people watching them. Then he continues, in the same tone and the same emotions in his eyes. "It's very simple. Just use your managerial pull to move Keefe from thirty-eight twenty-five to suite four zero eight zero."

As if on cue, akin to a classic Hollywood actress like Audrey Hepburn, Lisa gapes at him in shock; as tear trails freshly along her cheeks, as she attempted to speak. While she acts as though she is being held hostage so that someone would be able to get to Keefe. She has to think fast. Finally, she manages to compose the sentence that he had seen formulating in her head. She shakes her head; her cheeks are stained with slowly drying tears. "As I said before Jackson, I don't have the authority to do that."

Surprised by her great acting skills, Jackson with The almost-friendliness vanishing and is replaced by a terrifying expression. "Well, as I said before Leese, that I happen to know that you do. And I happen to know that you're the only voice that can get this done by the time I need it done." He knows for a fact, that she does so much more than that. That she is in fact was in charge of the whole staff and customer relations. The hotel manager herself was sitting in front of him.

He pulls the phone forcefully out of its holder, stretching it to her. Lisa doesn't take it, knowing she will yield to his commands under his cold and baleful gaze. She has yet to piece together a plan in her head for an alternative, before she could face him, or even taking the phone from his hands.

Jackson cocks his head, his eyes boring into her. "Do you need me to write it down?" He speaks slowly, as if speaking to one of the girls when they are upset, only with more mocking to it.

Lisa swallows hard, before she manages to get the words out. "No Jackson I don't." She sighs as she shoots razor-sharp pointed daggers at him with her eyes, then turns her head away from him; she looks straight ahead and assessing every possible way out of this...

Jackson looks at her side profile, as she is frowns slightly, possibly thinking of a way to stop this. "Well...then, what's the delay?" He replies becoming impatient, more with the situation than with Lisa. Who is doing a great job being convincing, however he knows most of this is real too.

Lisa glancesat him, through the tears that are building up again at the thought of the girls being in danger.** "**So, by changing Keefe's room, does that make it easier?" She questions, in a fired tone, not able to yell but wishing she could and thinking about how screwed up this whole situation was.

Jackson sighs, and slams the phone back to its holder, harder than it needed to be. He is close to losing his temper. She was too much of a thinker, and it aggravated him to no end. Why did she have to make this whole damn job so difficult? After all, it was a simple call regarding a man she had some personal connection to, who has no qualms in getting men to kill not only her father, but also their young vulnerable daughters. He whispers half sardonically, under his breath, as he looks away for a moment getting his head together. "So where's your male-driven fact based logic now Rippner?"

Even though he knows he's acting, he also knows that It is taking all her strength not to simply strike him squarely across his handsome face, if she heard the typical narcissistic such a pig-headed male chauvinism, she hears from male customers at work, but something in his words stopped her. Perhaps it is a good thing he had talked about facts and logic, even though he knows in other circumstances he would not be like this, this is just an act that she has to play along too. Although he lives with four girls in the house, and yet that is the first thing he can come up is that. He knows by now that, guys are no more logical or "fact-based" and that men drive on emotion every day, just as much as much as women do? That is when it dawns on him; he is just as afraid for his family as Lisa is and his emotions are going to drive him, more than his logic side.

Jackson's face is now only a few inches away, she abruptly turns her face to look him straight in the eyes. Pulling a customer service face on him, one of her more powerful ones, that spells out "Bullshit," he also should know, from long experience, that she can hand out silent dressing-downs of epic proportions. All the facts he had given to her, maybe by accident, all added to one thing.

"You're gonna kill Keefe, aren't you?" Lisa stares him dead in the eyes. One thing she is sure about is that looking into someone's eyes could reveal the entire truth about them. Moreover, from what she can see, as Jackson grinds his teeth, he truly doesn't want to do this.

He looks away, let out a small sigh, before turning back to her, and answers her accordingly; his eyes meeting her eyes with intensity, she has never seen before. "You know you really need to start worrying more about your dad and our little girls, Leese."

Lisa lets the tears dry on her face; she knows what she has to do. "How am I supposed to know they're okay? How do I know they whoever they are haven't already done something to them?" She whispers accusingly, nailing Jackson with a fierce look.

"Their fine Leese, as I told you before. Nobody is going to hurt them." Jackson has a regretful tone towards the end of the sentence. They are so small and defenseless and know nothing about the dangers of the world, or the situation that they have been unwittingly, brought into. All he wants to do is go home, and give the girls a big squeeze and tell them everything is going to be okay.

Lisa says quietly, looking at him with her eyes glossy and bloodshot, and stubbornly demanding to make the phone call. "I want to call my dad; I won't do anything until I know our children are okay!" She pleads with her eyes, and even uses the old glance-at-his-lips routine, which had worked on a few occasions. She was shooting for a spark of humanity, even if it was just a flicker of emotion in his pupils at best. She knows she has some sway in that department.

Jackson watches as her mouth form the plea, as she crosses her arms over her chest and looks away again; her face is a mask of determination. "You can ring him, after you have made the phone call." He retorts immediately, and shakes off the slight discomfort his feeling at this moment at the words he just said. It came out of his mouth as an order, which he was used to giving, not as he has wanted to say it.

Lisa turns back to him, and spits with real venom, her father and daughters are in real danger; she desperately needs to know they are okay. Lisa throws him a loathing look, her hair is a mess, and her eyes are red. "Jackson I want to call him now, I wanna know they're okay _now,_ or I don't call_ anybody._"

Jackson pressing his lips into a thin white line, he realized she was not going to give in. He also does not want to make this worse than it has to be, and in truth, he wants to know too. It is all part of the package, of being a father. "Fine, it's your dime Leese." He answers her in a hiss, as he glances at his watch and then back at her.

That got Lisa's attention,wanting so badly to hit him square in the face, as she answers him, but she knows she has to keep up pretenses, and his only doing the same. Therefore, she goes for a shaky but determined demeanor instead, and intensely glares at him, handing out another silent dressing-down, of epic proportions. You do not mess with the Once and Future Mistress of the Customer-Service Face, that spells out Not when it comes to your own kids.** "**That would technically be ours Jackson." With trembling hands, all the while without breaking eye contact with Jackson, she reaches for her handbag and begins to make work of fumbling around the contents for her credit card. She suddenly clenches her teeth to prevent herself from screaming in frustration as the bag is suddenly wrenched from her lap. Thinking that they will have a credit card bill at the end of the month to pay, and it will be traceable back to them and they will end up in all kinds of trouble for just protecting their daughters and Joe. "You're only going to be able to grab the joint credit card Jackson, you do realize that don't you?" She says with gritted teeth, looking at him as though he should know this.

JacksonShakes his head ignoring her, even though his only acting, she is still finding ways to dig at him. Being the Lisa he knows, and definitely loves. He Fishes around for a second, pulling out a plastic Ziploc bag full of bright colored toy cars, and placing them on his lap, shaking his head. Then digs around again, thinking about how Lisa is always ready for something, ever so resourceful, even if it is the girls and by the devious glint in her eyes at that millisecond, he knows she is planning something in her head. He takes out a small doll, next Henry the dinosaur, a small white box of buttons, a bumper pack of multicolored crayons, and 2 plastic novelty pens, one Hello Kitty and the other a Frankenstein Bart Simpson that are Emily and Millie's, and yet they always seem to end up in her handbag. Before pulling out her leather purse and opening it pulling out a card, he ignores the PA system announcement that passengers are able to move freely about the cabin. Instead, noticing she is right, he stuffs everything quickly back in her bag, and grabs for his wallet from his inside jacket pocket, riffling through with shaky hands and takes out a credit card. Then picks up the phone and swipes the card with a loud click. He dials their number, with one hand, without even looking at the numbers, and it starts to ring. His voice is quiet and sincere, but underneath that is the paternal concern he has for the little ones at home, but his hard blue eyes look at her and said something entirely different.They are brimming with emotion, and showing her the side of him that she loves, his raw and uninhibited side.** "**Leese, take as much time as you need."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 

In the meantime, at the huge house on Blossom Palms Lane, that has now become quiet and peaceful for the moment at least, even through the sound of the local cricket population, are currently letting their choir sing. While gentle music is playing in perfect harmony, as listening to music to cut out the external sounds because Olivia has difficulty shutting down her senses, in particular sight and hearing. A person with autism like Olivia may have to sort through both major and minor stimuli—the sound of crickets, the smell of the fabric softener on their clothes, a car driving past outside causing meltdowns. Joe is presently lying next to his newly bathed and changed into fresh cotton butterfly pyjamas granddaughter, after what can only be described as one of her bad nights, and this one topped them all. The 2 phones are ringing loud and proud, whereas an exhausted but relieved Joe ignores the things, gently holding her little body for comfort, and focusing all his energy on stroking some bright red hair away from an equally exhausted Olivia's innocent little he bends down closer to her, being very careful not to hurt his already aching back, as well as jostle the little girl, and whispers gently into her hair, breathing in her now fresh and clean flowery scent. "Hey sweetie why don't we get you into bed now you're sleeping huh." Pulling himself up a little, he settles the yellow book that he was reading from earlier, that is laying on to his knees, and looks back down at Olivia with a troubled expression, thankfully she is lost in sleep now, in her own little safe world. He deftly picks up the book that has been balancing hazardously on his knees for some time, and turns with awareness and tender dexterously to put the book, they were reading on her prettily painted white bedside table next to her star night light.

Abruptly the sound of a creaking door rings through his ears as loud as if it had been a foghorn, and breaks him from his thoughts, which makes him turn, to the direction of the little person who has made the noise, her eyes are shiny with tears. Just as the obnoxious ringing stops before the answer machine can take it, he knows that if it were that important they would ring again.

"Are you okay Grandpa?" The young tired curious voice asks walking slowly into the room; she stands at only 3 feet tall, auburn kinky curls framing her delicate face like her mother, tousled, slightly sleep-bewildered look of a little girl who was summoned from bed, but is happy to help her grandpa. While she has inherited, her father's bright piercing blue eyes, she's a Spitting image of both her mother and daddy. She's more like her mother in personality although does have some traits of her father. She is very sensitive, helpful, polite, and caring towards her sisters and friends, like her mother, she is playful, exuberant, and giggly, a very social and bubbly child that loves playing with her friends, but also very bossy when she wants to be, a bright kid, who also likes her own time to read and write stories about faraway lands. What you can say, is that she is a typical five-year-old little girl, and nothing can stop her from being herself. The young girl walks further in, standing in front of her grandfather in a pink, purple, and white set of cotton pajamas, with little princesses as the pattern. She remains in between his jean clad legs, and her clear expressive eyes looks so sad, staring at him as she is holding her Princess Polly fabric stuffed dolly, gingerly twirling the dark brown soft wool hair around her index finger.

Joe tries his hardest to hide the pain and tiredness in his dark astute eyes, as he runs his hand down her soft, fluffy hair and smoothes it out, as well as giving her a small kiss on the forehead. He knows she's worried about Olivia having the utmost patience and love for her, when she's awake Emily is awake, always listening for the things that don't sound right. She's definitely more than delighted about her parents coming home; she's also very exhausted from the last few days fun, enjoyable, flexible activities he had scheduled for them. There is also sadness of this weekend for her Nana, the excitement of starting kindergarten in the next few days with some of her friends and almost certainly delighted in making new friends, and it seems everything is hitting her all at once. "I'm okay sweetie, why don't you go back to bed okay, and I'll be in, in a few minutes okay." He answers her with a warm smile, and in a low soft voice so not to wake Olivia from her sleep.

Whereas in reply, Emily's little mouth tightens into a white line as though she know that he is holding out on her, while also lookingat him for reassurance and comfort. She can also tell her grandfather is acting very weird to her and her sisters, and she doesn't understand why. "Okay, grandpa" She answers softly and nods gently with that unnerving look that kids had when it seems like they're looking straight into your secrets, as stinging tears start threatening her eyes; she and her sisters have never been away from their mother and father for this long especially when they are the most important people in her life. She is also taking the big sister role so seriously, because she feels she has to, and she always helps her mommy and daddy with them like a big girl.

Meanwhile Joe smiles at how much she resembles Lisa at that moment, she seems so grown up, because of her sisters, becoming more mature than a child her age is, although she has her moments, and it makes him so proud of her. She really is the best bits mix of Lisa and Jackson together. Because he had never thought that he would have grandchildren or that Lisa would be the one to have a family, with someone. She was always a self-proclaimed workaholic, and permanently dedicated to her job, that she worked hard going up the corporate ladder to earn the career she has now. Whenever he asked her about grandchildren, she would laugh with a wave of her hand, and tell him there was no chance that would be happening, she's too busy to have them.

That all changed when she was married to one Jackson Rippner, a man he met 9 years ago when he worked for the CIA, he and his then wife had invited Lisa and Jackson over for dinner, after hearing Lisa talk about the man she has been dating. He explained how he was trained on surveillance, and communication, for the infiltrating assignments he was sent on. From what he knows is Jackson was a fast learner and always completed assignments successfully, and made his way like his daughter, up the path very quickly with his excellent reputation and being so highly honored by the CIA's senior management. Which made a full of pride Joe ecstatic, and would tell Jackson about his astonishing, amazing, and magnificent daughter Lisa, about her hockey days, and her promotions within the hotel, and her everything in between. He was always wondering in the back of his head, if Lisa and Jackson were compatible in real life, and not just the fantasy of them he formed musingly in his head, they seem to have the same kind of personality and interests. Only Jackson had to want to change, and learn about rediscovering his humanity, since he was a highly trained agent and killer, who underneath all this has such a warm heart and compassionate to the people, he cares about. Fortunately, he did find that part of him coming through more, and this entailed him going to therapy, learning a social new language, new words, new gestures, and new social behaviors to be able to express himself properly in society.

Fortunately, the fantasy became reality, 5 years later, when Jackson was on assignment in Miami with his team, his long time friend Chris Butler being personally involved in this decision with Jackson's superior. Although back then, Lisa wasn't much of a dater, even though male hotel guests asked about her all the time. Then one day, one sunny August he too asked that question and with gentle persuasion from him and her best friend Cynthia, she finally took the plunge. A year later, it made him more than happy, in complying with the young man's wishes when he asked for Lisa Henrietta Reisert's hand in marriage, during a round of golf one sunny May afternoon, losing as usual with double bogies on each course. Remembering the phone call from Lisa, that Friday morning, hearing how he proposed to her the next day, with flowers, her grandmother's simple, but beautiful silver and pearl antique necklace, and a shiny expensive but understated elegant 18K white gold engagement ring, with a small 1 ct. diamond and emerald that sparkled and shined. You can be sure though she accepted with some hesitation, but finally accepted knowing she had taught him how to feel human again, and how he has brought the feelings, she thought she would never feel for anybody to the surface. As his poor daughter was still in shock, trying to take everything in that Jackson had written on the card. Here we are today, his daughter happily married to a man he actually likes and gets on with, and along with 3 wonderful granddaughters, that although can run rings around him, making sure he has sucker written on his forehead, and have him wrapped around their little fingers, he would never trade, for the world.

The sound of Olivia whimpering quietly, while she ruffles Joe's t-shirt between her fingers self-stimming with repetitive activities involving the senses, focusing her on one particular sound may reduce the impact of a loud, distressing environment, a way to deal with stress and anxiety and to block out uncertainty. At the same time as her face is resting against her soft pillow she whimpers again softly as she buries her face further into his chest, seeking more warmth and comfort from his familiar scent in her sleep, taking Joe out of his pleasant musings, as it's obvious she is comfortable with this. As Joe stands up and lifts her gently on to his chest so he can get her into bed, pulling the covers back ready for her to be laid inside them. Then he lays her down carefully, making sure to place her in the right spot on the soft mattress, so she can roll onto her side, and curl into a little ball. Afterwards he covers her gently with the cute pastel butterfly duvet, making sure her little eyes and nose are in full view. Meanwhile oblivious to everything around her now, she continues to chew her rabbit, and ruffling her duvet between her fingers with her other hand in relaxation, or stimming (Self-Stimulation). Her heavy eyes are now beginning to close gently again,her breathing is slow and steady,and he knows she is reassured by the vanilla scent he put on the furearlier.

At the same time as doing so, Joe smiles tiredly, knowing Olivia is almost certainly as excited as her older sisters are about going to the beach. Moreover, how much she missed her parents these last couple of days, and not sleeping properly without her parents these last few days, because her sleep routinesduring the week and the weekend have gone right out the window. "I know you're excited about tomorrow sweetie, but you need to sleep. Mommy and daddy will be home soon okay." He says looking down at his youngest granddaughter with a smile, and speaks softly even as he's stroking her hair back from her face gently.

The phone starts ringing again, interrupting them along with the ambient quiet of the house, that has taken a while to restore; Joe looks over at Emily, who is now standing at the door, hugging her dolly closer to her chest, with a worried expression on her little cherub face. "Emmy precious, why don't we get the phone it might be mommy and daddy. Now then, where is that phone?" He says a little louder, but using the same soothing tones so not to worry the little girl in his arms.

He gets up from the Olivia's bed cautiously, and walks carefully on the soft carpet muting the sounds, over to the door to his oldest granddaughter, bending down in front of her, and smiles for her,brushing some fresh tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and kisses the tip of her nose.

Subsequently gently lifting her up, at the same time as she kicks her legs and spreads her arms out, as if she is a plane, while her dolly dangles, she then wraps her little thin legs around his waist**. **He squeezes her snugly and securely against him, his bristled cheek is against her hair, his eyes ever so watchful; automaticallyhe's monitoring the shadows all around carrying Emily on his hip, as she moans softly, but her protests are short-lived he rubs the back of her head gently working his way down gently to her back where he pats her back soothingly and rhythmically. Emily meanwhile caresses his stubbly cheeks with some tresses of Princess Polly's hair, sticking them inside his nostrils, with a small frown on her forehead with huge questioning blue eyes, and tears on her cheeks. As he, slowly walks across the dark wooden flooring quietly, making his way through the hallway, the walls are filled with hanging pictures of the family taken by both Jackson and Lisa through the years. As well as the artistically modern, colorful, expressive, with beautiful arrays of design, enchanting, and sophisticated prints they have also brought over the years by modern artists, still walking on his way towards the ringing phone.

Once he gets to the small wooden table between Lisa's bedroom and the spare bedroom, that the phone is set on, he swiftly without any delay in the movement pulls the phone from the base, and with his free left hand and answers the phone. This is while Emily is watching her grandfather attentively, inquisitively, and watchfully on the phone, afterwards her eyes startglancing back at her little sisters to see if they are okay. Her delicate little pink painted fingers are playing with her fabric dolly's hair again, while she chews her bottom lip, her eyes look ever so thoughtful and heartbreaking. Which makes Joe looks at her with deep sorrow, he knows that she knows something, and as always looking after her little sister's but that doesn't stop him from worrying. "Hello?" He enquires into the receiver; the tone of his voice is dubious with a hint of annoyance, still looking at his oldest granddaughter forlornly, wishing he could put her back to bed with these interruptions.

* * *

><p>Back on the plane, Jackson sits with his head resting against the headrest, his eyes scanning the plane, while his mind is ticking over strategic idea for the situation him and Lisa are in. Because thing are already complicated, and now there could be more ahead. Jackson rubs his forehead, but remains calm as he turns to look at her, his face also displaying the same worry and fear, and determination. Thinking that they will know what he might try. They know everything about him and his methods. However, they do not know what lengths he will go to, in order to save his family. No one knows that.<p>

However, Lisa knew as soon as those words left his mouth, that he was planning a way to get out of this. The only problem is no one is answering on the other end, usually the girls were eager to answer the phone and so She sits and her fingers tapping the side of the phone in the rhythm of the ringing, while her face is expressing fear and worry for the people on the other end. Leaning next to Jackson so he can hear as his thinking, Lisa is relieved her father has finally answered the phone. Having to dialed their number twice, and worried that one of Keefe's men has hurt them. "Dad is everything okay?" She calls as soon as she hears an answer; Jackson looks at her concerned by what he hears, as they haven't spoken another word for several minutes.

Her father asks, sounding confused, quite distressed, and somewhat exhausted tone of voice. "I can't sleep, and Olivia woke up crying and throwing one of her temper tantrums, so I've been trying to calm her for the last hour or so, but she's sleeping now. I'm just getting Emmy and Mills to do the same thing, which is proving an even harder thing to do at the moment, than I originally thought."

Lisa tries not to smile at her father, the fact that Joe Reisert is trying not to sound frantic and yet worries far too much, her dad so strong and alive, infectiously funny and in spite of that can be so serious, incredibly intelligent, and extremely compassionate. Her face brightens a notch at the thought of seeing Emily, Millie, and Olivia again, guilt, and the terrible feeling of something being irreversibly done to them, makes her insides churn. She knows her husband is listening meticulously, and he can hear exactly what her father's voice is saying on the phone, because she has no doubt in her mind, he is most definitely wondering the same question in his mind, and is equally, as eager as her to know they are okay. He is OK. That sounds so much like her Dad. It sounds so normal, that Olivia had her nightmare, and the girls are excited and wide-awake waiting for them to come home. That it gives her a sense of strength, to know that they are all right, although her father does sound exhausted, and in need of a well deserved rest. They will have to take it from here; they have to come up with a plan for now. "Did she have another nightmare again?" The thought, causes the happy look on her face quickly fade, as she wonders if it was the same one, she has had the last couple of nights, which have caused her to scream for hours before being able to get settled. Instead, she can feel the guilt of leaving her father alone with the girls; it's too much, especially dealing with the matter of Olivia's nightmares, which she guesses by the sound of his voice, was a particularly bad one.

"Yes, honey but calmed finally when I was able to give her a nice warm bath, she took a walk around the living room, and she was able organize her buttons, I even added some vanilla onto her rabbit, but everything's okay here now." He says, voice more tired, and sounding as though he could do with a bath and a lie down himself. Now he is speaking with open, cautious fatherly concern in his tone like always. She can hear him struggling not to pry, not to sound overly protective, and imagines he has one of his questionable look on his face, with his brows furrowed because really he is trying to look out for them, and guard them all from danger. "Honey I know you don't like it when I ask, but are you okay, you kinda sound upset?"

Upon hearing her father's question, Lisa starts shaking her head at what she is hearing, because she refuses to think of herself as weak, as if she's someone to worry about. Tears immediately start building up in her eyes again. Subsequently they start to fall uncontrollably, and she is sure her father can hear that she is crying as she answers him. "I'm fine dad, we were just late taking off and –and there's some turbulence on the plane. We're just worried about you and the girls, we were sure they were going to be little pests tonight." He shouldn't have to be worried about these things. However, he is her dad and she knows that he will go across the world for his only daughter. The same can be said for Jackson, who deep down is such a cute, although intimidating, and very protective daddy.

Joe says warmly, with a little gruff laugh. "Well you're right about them being pests, but are you sure you're okay honey?"

"Yes, dad I'm sure." She replies with somewhat automatically, with an enormous smile, thinking about their little girls being the little creatures they are. Knowing their best laid plans for consistent bedtimes, and happy sleep routines during this week and this weekend they have been away, has gone right out of the window, turningtheir once-champion little sleepers, into 3 very cranky bedtime refusing monsters. "Did they cause you any trouble?" She clears her throat, while she uses the palm of her other hand to wipe the tears away from her reddened cheeks, naturally fidgeting to make herself comfortable for the conversation ahead. "What are our girls doing?"

Joe yawns tiredly as he answers his daughters, very familiar and understandable questions, sounding exhausted. "Nothing too exciting, just the twins waking up every hour hoping you will be home soon." A slight pause, she hears him whisper something, before he answers again, with a small chuckle. "I think they're more excited about seeing you both later this morning, than the beach. I know all the girls have missed you both terribly." Then his voice turns serious. "Is something wrong?"

"No dad, it's just Mommy and daddy miss them too and we are so proud of them, that's all, and I can't wait till later either." Lisa Smiles in relief, she knows that they are too young to handle this kind of stress.

The line is silent for a long minute, before Joe's deep voice appears again in a concerned tone again, as he asks the question. "Is Jackson okay honey?"

Lisa lets out a deep sigh, before she answers him, her heart beating against her ribs. She can feel Jackson watching her, shooting her a worried warning glance, to say be careful what you say to him. She glares back at him, wondering if he knows how much it flare up her temper, the tone, the glance. "Yep, he is sitting here, right next to me; and is listening intently, in need of sleep." She says, with a calmer voice, than her glare at Jackson.

Joe chuckles again, but sounding even more tired than before, as he answers his daughter. "Okay, well he needs to rest for tomorrow; I have a feeling it's going to be quite a day." There seems to be a slight hesitation, before he speaks again. "So, I'd better let you go I'm sure you're both tired and want a sleep before coming home to the girls."

Lisa takes a deep breath, and then slowly releases it. She is just tired enough to feel a pang of homesickness at his last words and the mention of their little girls. She sniffles, fighting back the tears that are building up in her sore eyes. She can imagine him leaning casually into a doorframe of Emily's bedroom, smiling tiredly, looking about ready to collapse. "Like you should do dad, but really, its fine tell me everything?" She says, smiling through her tears.

* * *

><p>Still on her grandfather's hip, as he speaks on the phone, leaning against the ivory painted wall for some much needed support. A rather squirmy and excitable Emily tugs at the front of her grandpa's green knit sweater, with some force, desperately wanting to speak to her mother, who she misses a lot. As the sleeve of her pajama top falls, showing the pretty strands of the colorfully pastel beads and threads that envelopes the little girl's arm. While she blinks her, big clear blue expressive eyes, which look like huge saucers up innocently at her grandpa, who reaches up to tuck a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. "Can I speak to mommy please?" Her little sweet voice asks, her eyes filling again and looking close to tears, even as she wipes her nose with her hand.<p>

Before reaching the pink delights of Emily's room, Joe smiles down at his auburn haired granddaughter, reassuringly hoping his daughter will agree to have a little chat. He knows if Emily and her sisters had their way, they would be on the phone with their parents all day, running up a huge phone bill. "Leese honey, Emmy wants to talk to you?" He asks his daughter, using their pet name for her, and hopes hearing the sound of her mother's voice, will be just enough to coax her to go back to sleep. He then kisses the top of her head, a knowing smile playing on his lips. It's going to take three hours to get their twin daughters settled enough to sleep. Normally, they would be in bed by now, sound asleep, and then up at dawn.

"That's fine dad." She says in tender tone, along with a knowing chuckle.

"Sure honey, she's here." He says thankfully, with a small laugh, putting the phone to her ear, she looks up at her grandpa smiling happily. He takes a quick peek into Millie's room, where she is still sitting on her knees, looking out of the window, and he smiles tiredly. He knows that Millie is going to be the hardest to convince, to get back into bed and he is definitely not looking forward to it,when it simply can't be avoided.

"Hey sweetie, how are you?" She asks, her voice radiating cheerfulness, underneath though there is some sadness trying to break through.

In the meantime, an exhausted Joe continues to carry her inside the pink princess wonderland, where beautifully painted ornate fairies are hanging by white string from the ceiling, and dance to the rhythm of the light breeze and while dreamlike ones float gently on the softly painted walls, from her nightlight. Emily talks into the receiver in a somewhat loud pronunciation, with uncontrollable fits of giggles and grinning from ear to ear, as Joe uses his large fingers to tickle tortures mercilessly on her belly, squirming and making little squeaks of delight, as Joes has found her most ticklish spot. Afterwards in victory, he brings his lips on to her right cheek, to blow a raspberry, causing her giggles to become louder full-blown laughter. "Hello mommy, I'm okay!" She says, with a huge beautiful smile on her little face, in the same way as her eyes brighten significantly with joy, looking as bright and cheerful, much like her mother.

"You need to go back to bed after this young lady, otherwise you won't wake up in the morning." Lisa's voice is now sounding soft, but with a little more quiet authority in her tone.

Joe Looks down and kisses Emily cheek lightly, as she is still giggling. Then smoothes her hair, and whispers something in her ear. Meanwhile Emily lays her head on her grandfathers chest, and whispers a little louder into Joe's chest, nodding her head for emphasis, as she looks down at her feet. "Okay mommy, but I'm not tired."

Taking a quick glance at his youngest granddaughter still happily fast asleep now, since she hasn't slept on her normal schedule for a couple of days in a row, and so ends up waking up early each morning. Joe smiles, after that, he turns back and watches as Emily rubs her heavy eyes, nearly falling asleep in his arms, and maybe be able to benefit from a little downtime himself. However, being like her mother by staying determined to stay awake, and carry on talking to her mommy on the phone. "Good girl." He whispers, before he kisses her on the cheek and putting her down on the soft carpeted floor by her pretty 4 poster princess bed, followed by Joe walking behind her, pulls the covers up on Emily's bed, while she grabs her dollies from the princess bedside table, and Joe signals for her to get in. Emily still talking away to mommy happily, holding her dolls in one hand, with a massive bright grin and more giggles, she somehowwillinglysummons the energy and leaps into her bed, hair swishing back and forth behind her. Forever surrounded by her collection of dollies, fairies, and stuffed animals that are presents from her parents and grandparents, being ever so watchful. With a beautiful majestic dollhouse in the corner by the window, while her pretty dolls are set up in various positions all over the house, showing it is she obvious that she plays with it a lot. She then blinks her big blue eyes up innocently at Joe, who is folding the covers in tightly all around her; and Emily bunches up the covers while her hands are playing with her Barbie dolls**.**

* * *

><p>Leaning against the headrest, and watching her husband as he too is watching her. There is stillness in her expression, as much as there is in Jackson's. Taking the phone away from her ear slightly, Lisa turns her head back to face the headrests, and can hear the commotion, making her smile, the real smile only reserved for a select few, and more tears welling up in her eyes. She loves the little voice on the end of the phone, as she thinks; <em>she is<em> _so much like me._ Lisa knows she is still refining the fine art of conversation, though. For Emily and Millie, the talking part is not a problem; it's the listening part they need help with. As they're unsure on how to get, and keep your attention, however they butt in as neededbecause they'll forget what they want to say if they don't spit it out quickly, and therefore they keep going whether or not you're listening and responding. While she doesn't want to discourage her oldest daughter from talking, it is time now to clue her into conversational etiquette. When she bring the phone back to her ear, Emily's giggles have quieted down somewhat, and so takes the chance to speak again. "Is everything okay sweetie, what are you doing up this late?" Her voice comes out a half octave too high and she has to clear her throat, as she swears colorfully inside her head. While also letting her knows, that she needs to turn the conversation, as she needs to say something. Looking back at Jackson, she notices that he has an absolutely, sincere worried smile on his lips.

On the other end, she can hear the short pause, as Emily thinks about that for a minute, and then she replies again to answer her mother's question. "Yes mommy, I can't sleep, and we miss you lots and lots. Me and Millie are helping grandpa protect Olivia when she waked up; she had a bad dream and she cry."Her heartrending voice comes out strangled and choked, and Lisa imagines that her eyes are filling with tears, giving the impression that this was an often-repeated reply. However, she knows the little girl on the other end of the line, doesn't know what is going on, but she knows that something is bothering her mommy. It's amazing how perceptive children are when it comes to their parents, particularly their mothers.

"Why are you crying mommy?" Emily's little sad voice, questions her mother sadly.

Lisa mentally giving the little girl a big hug, she is such a wonderful caring little girl and so like her. Her concern growing, with the words that came from his daughter's mouth. Emily is only five, but somehow at this moment she strikes to Lisa, as being so much older, knowing she is wondering if has done something wrong, that has hurt her mommy. As another tear breaks free and runs down her cheek from her red swollen eyes, she searches for the right words, before she answers her daughter trying not to sound upset. "Hey sweetie, we miss you all too, we are just very tired that's all, and we can't wait until tomorrow either."At the same time as she listens with a motherly look of concern, as Emily races through what she did to help grandpa, the bracelets they made for them both as a present, the pictures they drew, and how much she and her sisters miss them she now manages to say in a perfectly normal tone of voice.

Lisa turns her head and sees the look on Jackson's face; she indicates to him that their little girl is okay, with a small smile where her lips are pressed in a thin line. Not sure if she is reassuring him, or herself very convincingly. Before she turns back and looks out the window, looking out at the dark sky, trying to contain the burst of laughter building in her chest but feels her lips twitching. Her eyes go a shade grayer: as she tries to listen to their daughter seriously, even though her dimples are thinks how life is worth living, with the three little monsters, with balls of energy, that they don't know how they always keep up with them in it, and no one is going to take them away from her**.** "Wow, you all had a very busy evening huh, and did a great job sweetie; daddy and I look forward to seeing them." She answers, enthusiastically, although she can feel the panic slip into her voice slightly.

Emily asks innocently with a sad tone in her small voice, sounding so much older than five year olds do. "Where's daddy, is daddy okay?"

Lisa lets out a small laugh, and with a soft smile, and answers her daughter trying not to rouse suspicion, however her first instinct is to say 'awww'. "Yep, he's sitting right next to me sweetie, and missing you all so much."

"Can I speak to daddy please?" She asks in the sweetest voice and sounding, as though she has undoubtedly wanted to ask the question during the whole conversation and the night, because at five years old, thinking about herself is foremost still dominates your child's thinking. However, with Emily this is not the case, and is probably just very worried about him, like she is for mommy.

Making Lisa smile at the little voice on the other end of the line, while thinking about what a good dad Jackson is, even though right now she wishes at this moment, she could punch him in the face. "Of course, you can sweetie." She says happily, trying to keep a normal and reassuring tone to her voice, as she turns her head to the side to see Jackson, who is already looking at her shaking his head, making his hair whoosh on the side of his cheeks, and holds out his hands, whispering "no." That is when, she narrows her eyes, and hits him with a certain looks that says, "You will speak to our oldest little girl, oh Mr. International Man of Mystery. You will make it convincing, or there WILL be a doghouse in your future and it will not be you just building it for the puppy either." Hoping, the Expression in her lovely green-gray eyes that will snap him back, with a vengeance. While thinking she might spring for one of those dandy-big cushy dog beds for the puppy. Consequently, Jackson can only look on yearningly, from his spot curled up on the hard decking floor.

Suddenly Jackson feels as though his heart has stopped, instantaneously making him lose his breath. As he takes the phone cautiously from Lisa outstretched hand, watchingfrom the corner ofhis eye wearily and petrified,as she is still staring at him with that glare unwaveringly, and can't help at that moment the thought: _God, she's too good at that_.Attentively he puts the phone to his ear, and can hear the sound of Emily's sweet little chirpy voice; it snaps him back into the moment, which he knows what Lisa wanted to happen. His voice is soft and smooth, as if nothing has happened for the past hour or so, and uses his pet name for her. "Hi, how's my favorite princess?" He says, with a large smile, the same one he had at the Tex Mex, as he imagines that her little cherub face has now lighted up the whole eastern seaboard like her mother's does when she is just as happy, with a large cheeky, lopsided smile on her face. The image making him so badly wants to scoop Daddy's little princess up into his arms, he knows his little girl is probably wearing one of her favorite pink princess pajamas. As he swings her, up above his head, while she breaks into uncontrollable fits of giggles loudly, and her bright clear eyes are sparkling mischievously.

"I'm okay daddy!" She exclaims excitedly and loudly down the phones speaker, as if it is a megaphone.

Listening to his daughter talk, his expression is patient and neutral focusing all of his attention onto his eldest child**.** "Are you okay sweetie, why are you awake, and not asleep in your bed?" Jackson asks the question that every parent asks excitable children, his voice gentle**,** but he can feel the restlessness in the muscles of his lips, as he slips into his fatherly of his little girls are daddy's girls through and through. He will deny them of nothing that, which they want. They are such a perfect combinations of him and Lisa, that it takes his breath away every time he looks at them.

He can hear, as Emily tries to answer normally, but her tiny usually joyful voice comes out somewhat strangled and choked, which is not normal for Emily, even when she is awake at night sometimes helping them with Olivia. "I'm not sleepy daddy, I miss you lots, and Olivia waked up crying, I helped grandpa."

While listening with concern and dread to his little girl, as she continues talks away about how she helped grandpa like she helps them comfort Olivia, he frowns at the tears suddenly stinging his eyes**, **and then he doesn't succeed very well in hiding them, and has to looks quickly turns his head away, stares forwards at an imaginary point of interest along the headrests of the seat in front of the settled down cabin expressionlessly, and drags the heel of his right hand roughly across his eye socket. "Oh, I see pumpkin, and Millie is she awake too?" He asks, trying hard to keep his voice in a normal, calm tone and wonders if her rambunctious twin sister is awake too, writing in her spy diary, and being an absolute miniature of himself at that age.

Now Emily's voice sounds even smaller, frail sounding, while underneath her words, there is some uncertainty, and worry, all traces of earlier chirpiness has evaporated. "She misses you and mommy lots and lots too; she is looking out the window with Jasper and Rufus. Millie said that there are cars outside, and they are not allowed to be there."


	7. Chapter 7

Authors Note: Sorry this chapter is long, once I got started, I couldn't stop.

Thanks for the review, and the author alert, as usual much appreciated.

I hope, you enjoy this chapter?

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 7<span>

Jackson smiles easily, although his shocked blue eyes are portraying pure alarm, and he is trying his hardest to keep up the façade, rubbing one of his hands over his face and fighting the urge to vomit. The bile rises in his throat at the thought. How is he going to tell Lisa? He thinks about his little girls. About their big brilliant eyes, their gorgeous smiles, their innocence in this whole mess, Millie and Emily are just being the protective big sisters they are, and he won't let them touch his little girls. Neither mentally nor physically, he'll never let them touch the beautiful little girls he and Lisa created, nor will he show his violence in front of them. It makes him wonder if this can be true. Part of his mind saying, "What she had said cannot be true, she must have dreamt it." He wishes sorely that is just a dream that he is having right now, that he could just wake up from this, and everything was back to normal. Suddenly in cold realization, Jackson can now feel the man in seat behind him, his dark sinister eyes on them, as they are talking to their oldest daughter on the phone; maybe they aren't convincing enough for him. Jackson thinks as he wishes he could turn and look at him, so he can see the aura of violence and the death in his eyes, to know that he and his team are in terrible danger from the could-be demon in their midst, on a one-way ticket on the Hurt Train. His reputation, his contacts, and his support network: anyone touching his family will be LUCKY to get off with simple torture and a slow, agonizing death. It will be like Dante's Inferno HARDCORE: The Stuff Too Gruesome for Hell.

Coming out of his dark thoughts, Jackson takes the phone away from his ear for a moment, and gathers his thoughts. Reaching up, and gently smoothing the hair away from his left temple. He breathes in more deeply, letting the air fill into his lungs, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Immediately he feels calmer; his heartbeat is starting to become as slow and steady as his breathing. Before, he places the phone to his ear again, and listens for a second to his daughter. "Sweetie, can I speak to grandpa please?" He says in a softer tone, interrupting her from her worries, the fingers on his left hand tapping methodically on the fabric of his left thigh. Rather than using the tone he is thought, it might be, however this is his daughter he is talking to, and he doesn't want to scare her any further, and nevertheless he is still too much in shock. He is both heartbroken and angry by the fact; that she has just mentioned the cars being there and his middle daughter is without doubt watching them from her bedroom window.

When he hears Emily let out a small sad sigh and is about to cry, that's when the weariness and tender reluctance seems to weight on him further, keeping him on the phone talking to his little girl. His fatherly instincts are telling him to: _Stay on the line with her, until you are certain she is relaxed and feeling safe enough to fall back to sleep._ While his professional instincts are saying: _You have to leave her, she's safe enough with Joe, and you need to talk to Joe._

He looks over at his wife, and sees the fear on her as well as quiet determination on her face. Her eyes are shiny with tears, watching his face so very closely, yet she isn't staring, she's asking him silent questions that he cannot answer right now. Too much has just come pouring, into their lives all at once. He knows she needs him to make her feel safe, to make her feel like their children are safe. He knows that her stomach is going to be twisted into knots when he tells her, what Emily has told him about the people skulking outside their house, while her kids are there sleeping. However, he is brought out of that thought, when he can hear Emily ask him about what time they will be getting home.

* * *

><p>Upon hearing his granddaughter's question, Joe turns from the large window, where he has been staring out at the non-natural darkness for the past 2 or so minutes, where only a sliver of moon is visible and all the stars are missing from the sky. In contemplation, exhaustion, dissatisfaction, and frustration, he puts a hand onto his face; and rubs his callous fingertips up under his glasses and along his eyelids. His eyes are red and cannot believe his ears, he can barely stomach the words that have just come out of his oldest granddaughter's mouth, and the urge to vomit, seem like a rather appealing idea. As he sways slightly on his feet, swirling thoughts, and images like waves of muddy water and he's exhausted before he's even talked to Jackson about this, and able to console his granddaughter who looks so tiny and fragile in her bed. The sight of the little girl, and the disturbing thoughts, makes him shiver in spite of the warm night, freezing deep into his marrow and he can't move. He has to close his eyes and presses his lips together into a thin line, with his head is bent, and he is trying relentlessly to steady himself against the windowsill, taking a second, without alarming his granddaughter. Before he looks up with heavily lidded eyes, pries his fingers that are tightly curled around the windowsill; and quietly walks over to her on the soft pastel pink carpet, and sits down on the bed glad for the support, next to the young child with a forced smile on his face. Watching her cautiously, as she talk further to her daddy, with a heartbreaking smile and her usually stunning translucent eyes cast downwards, playing with her Barbie dolls, in a rather unusual manner than she usually does. It's as if they know they are being watched the whole time, as she has pretty purple dressed one with matching shoes, whispering in the pink dressed ones hair covered ear. He feels awkward watching her play with her Barbie dolls like that, and he doesn't want to interrupt her at this moment, for the reason that he doesn't like making her say goodbye to her father. Not with his grandchildren, but it needs to be done at this moment, especially when they are all in serious danger. Thinking of his next move, he turns his head to glance out the window to the blackness and the few twinkling stars outside, his bushy brows furrowed, and his forehead creased intensely like caverns. He lets out a loud exhausted sigh, and then looks back at the little girl in his arms still hiding her face in his sweater, her hair gorgeous auburn hair sticking to her red wet cheek. Joe kisses the top of her head, bringing up a large hand; he gently brushes some of her hair behind her ear. "Emmy honey, let me talk to daddy please." Joe asks, in a calm tone of voice into her hair, well as calm as it can sound, without alarming her with his own panic, irritation, and sadness he feels right now.<p>

Again, Emily sadly and defiantly shakes her head fiercely for emphasis, Joe smiling inside because she is looking like her mommy, concomitantly her beautiful shiny auburn curls bouncing as she does so. At the same time, as she moves her lucid tear filled blue eyes upwards, and looks up at her grandpa, with a little frown on her pretty little round face, while her little mouth is tightened into a tight white line. Letting him know that she doesn't feel safe. She wants her mommy and daddy; her mommy and daddy always make her feel safe.

* * *

><p>Tapping her right foot in anticipation, the sound of the heel thudding dully on the carpeted floor, although sounding excruciatingly loud to Lisa, who is still listening in, while her head and shoulders are right up against the seat, and she can nonetheless hear most of the commotion that is on the other side of the phone.<p>

While Jackson listens closely, to the rustling of the handset being rubbed against Emily's soft hair, which means she is shaking her head again. Meanwhile, he is at present using the fingers of his left hand, to ruffle the fabric of his suit pants, in worry and concern for the little creatures and his father in law at home, he knows is feeling the same way he is.

He understands why she wants to talk to him; she and her sisters miss them terribly, and on top of that, they don't feel as safe, as they should feel. All he wants to do is, put his arms around her in an attempt to make her feel safer.

Jackson turns his head slightly, focusing his tired eyes more closely on Lisa's profile, and knows Emily is just being as strong, stubborn, and frightened as her mother is right now. Furthermore, just like her mother, she is trying to protect her younger sisters. Nevertheless, there is also the excitement of seeing them both tomorrow, exhaustion of the fun and exciting weekend they have had with Grandpa Joe, anticipation for making a scrumptious disorganized breakfast for them. While also thrilled and overexcited about going to the beach to play, eagerness for kindergarten with some of her friends and meeting new friends, and all the fun they will be having all mixed into this.

"Emmy sweetie, I really need to speak to grandpa too. And It's way past time for good little princess fairies to be sleeping, right?" He says gently in a soft comforting voice into the speaker; however, there is some authority mixed in. Unfortunately, it isn't a question but a command and he realizes that it sounded much harsher than he intended it to be. Instinctively Jackson has deliberately said this, trying to use the same voice he uses when she and her sisters have a bad dream, being gentle Jackson usually locks his eyes with theirs, forcing them to look at him. Because their breathing isn't calm, and they seem to be lost in their own head, distraught, sad, sobbing, and very disturbed so he unconsciously massages slow circular motions at their necks with his thumb, and wishes he could do right now. Which he guesses the nightmares will be happen later on this morning, exasperated he sighs in fatigue and knows it is going to be a long flight, and he may have just upset his daughter further. He knows he has to hold it together, as he always does, but it's getting harder by the minute.

* * *

><p>Once Emily hears her daddy say that, she automatically knows it's time to go back to sleep, her father only says things in that tone when they are very naughty or something is wrong. She looks at her grandpa with her blue eyes shining a little, seeing him as a blur through her tear-filled eyes. Her expression is as though she has said something wrong, and is scared of getting into trouble with her grandpa and daddy.<p>

"Am I naughty grandpa?" She inquires in a quiet, with worry present too, sounding choked voice, and blinking back tears, as a lone tear runs down her cheek. While she asks both her daddy down the speaker, and grandpa the question, worried that she has said wrong or bad things, at the same time her brilliant bright blue eyes are cast downward with a little frown, staring fixedly at the pretty dolls in her hand, she looks endearingly innocent, bewildered, and incredibly exhausted.

That's when Joe shifts closer to her, and gathers her tiny body up in his arms, and gently rubs her cotton covered back, while the little girl presses her face into his sweater starts to sob softly, as the small whimpers burning in her throat, and she listens to her father, intently on the phone. From long time experience of being a father, Joe knows that she is listening to his heartbeat slowly, and is finding comfort when her father's voice hums in her ear through the speaker. All he is trying to do is to keep her calm, if that is even possible at this point, he kisses the top of her head gently; his nose dipped in her hair breathing in her shampoo, and can smell his daughter's fragrance, as a small sad smile is developing on his lips. Obviously, Emily had an adventure in mommy and daddy's room earlier tonight, pretending to be mommy for a little while, wearing mommy's clothes, shoes, and perfume, while her dark haired playful twin sister did the same thing, and pretended to be daddy. He'll have to check their bedroom later, but right now, all his concentration needs to be on her.

"No sweetie, I just need a little chat with daddy." He answers softly with a small smile, as he pulls away slightly, and watches as the little girl nods softly to his words, putting the phone down on the light pink cotton duvet with a small sigh. Even as, she is putting her Barbie dolls, carefully on the bedside table, beside her silver, pink, purple, and sparkly crown and wand, her pink and white Disney fairy clock. Next to her pink, purple, and yellow lamp, is a medium sized pink and purple fairy frame, with a picture taken by herself of everybody dressed in warm clothing, cuddled together on an old hollowed out dead branch in the forest smiling, is inside, as well as her favorite Princess books Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty. Followed by her gently tugging gently at the white, pink, and purple wings, decorated with pink, iridescent white, purple, and silver sequins, with colorful beads and fluffy trim in matching colors, and of course plenty of glitter, that is always strapped to her back. That is right now seems to be sparkling and dazzlingly brilliantly, reflecting the dim light coming from the pretty fairy night light on her bedside table, whilst the pretty wings are hanging from the right wooden bedpost.

In this moment, he can't tear his gaze away from her little effin face, because her eyes are like large saucers, her lips and little chin are trembling. She wipes her little hands across her watery eyes, and sniffles a little. Afterwards, she picks up the phone, and continues talking a little more cheerfully, as he carefully moves the flimsy prettily decorated piece of costume, away so she doesn't knock it, with one of his large wrinkly hand, concurrently Emily's eyes follow every movement, her eyes so huge, translucent blue and expressive, just as they are shining with her innocence.

"Okay grandpa, I need to rest my wings, mommy and daddy needs lots of rest too." She chirps quietly, recovering quickly from being upset she blinks the tears from her eyes and takes a deep breath; followed by her nodding obediently, yawning, as well as looking sleepy and sleepy-sounding, she lies back against the matching fluffy pillows, adjusting her little body and getting herself more comfortable. Subsequently to her grandfather, she holds one of her small slender arms out, clenching and unclenching her tiny hand in a 'gimme' gesture. "Good night mommy and daddy." She mumbles forlornly and resignedly down the phone, as her vivid eyes start to flutter shut, she is soothingly on her way, drifting into the magical fairy-tale world of dreamland, where only good things happen, and her imaginary friends surround her, nearly on her way to snoring lightly.

Whereas Joe just has to laugh, and smiles warmly down at her trying to sound like her mother at that age, it has absolutely made his heart, melt seeing her like this. Reminding a reflective rather moving Joe, of the nights when he would remain awake all night reading a book, and caring for his children when they were younger, who were having horrible nightmares, he swears to kill anyone who dares to lay a finger upon a single hair on her and her sisters heads. He leans down to pull the covers before he gives her a goodnight hug, putting his arms around her in an attempt to make her feel safer, and places a goodnight kiss on the top of his granddaughter's head, and does the same thing to her dolly. He desperately hopes the hug is helping; he wants to tell her and her sisters, that everything is going to be okay. To tell her that they are going to be on the beach later this morning, doing everything they have talked about for the past 3 days. He cautiously takes the phone from her little clutched hand, and watches at the innocent face before him as she drifts off further into sleep, with her princess fabric doll tightly in her arms, her little kitten that must have sneaked onto the bed when he wasn't looking, is now curled up next to her. Furthermore, as he soothingly whispers some sweet nothings to his oldest granddaughters sleeping form, affectionately untangling some of her beautiful auburn kinky curls, and gently pushing them delicately with his index finger, out off her adorable babyish face, she stirs when he gets up trying to be careful, but she doesn't wake. He knows in his heart, that he desperately yearns for her to be dreaming of fairies, princes, princesses, and sugarplums, and not of terrible dreadful things that will haunt her in the night. He hopes pouring all his love over her, and keeping her safe and happy, so she'll sleep solidly now until five in the morning, when she and her sisters will wake, and their daily routine will begin again.

The girls are so lovable, innocent, and naïve to the world around them, they need to be worrying that they have enough toys packed, sleeping in their beds, being the 3 little excitable girls they are. Dreaming of making a wonderful chaotic and disordered breakfast for everybody, telling their parents what they have been doing for the past 3 days, as well as all the brilliant adventures they will be having with mommy and daddy. They shouldn't, be worrying and fearing on the subject of whether or not there are some creeps lurking outside of their bedroom windows, ready to get them, or why their grandpa seems to be very uneasy at the moment.

He puts the phone to his ear and hears Jackson's voice radiate through the receiver, still watching the tired and excited little girl for a moment longer as she smoothly turns over with a little mumble, alongside gently pulling the soft pink duvet up to her neck, and her eyes close further as she falls deeper into slumber. While his eyes are also, subconsciously trained at the large window, he takes a deep cleansing breath as he stares at the almost empty, still, and silent street outside. "Bunny caught in headlights, 2 gray 5 series like daddy and 1 black, 2009s or 2010s, can't read plates, five men in total." He says proficiently calmly, as he quietly shuts the bedroom door slightly behind him, so he can still see what is going on and let the light inside in case of nightmares.

Quietly, but purposely with skills and proficiency only possessed through training, he walks lightly across the dark stained floorboards to the room next door. That room being Millie's, and has a better view of the cars outside. Her room is painted in purple and light blue, with an array of football, multicolored, and dinosaur string lights on the walls lighting the room, and giving it a light ambient glow. The main wall where the white wooden bed is, are a large collection of pictures of friends, family, and her own drawings in crayons, colored pencils, and magic markers, including a pretty picture of a giraffe, golden retriever, and chocolate Labrador looking like they're on guard. All framed in multicolored plastic fames in all kinds of shapes and sizes, decorated with stickers and all kinds of constructing materials. He smiles at his granddaughter's artwork, before he quietly scans the rest of the bright and vibrant room, and upon sees no one else hiding in corners or the shadows, he comes fully into it.

In the meantime, Millie is dressed in her favorite black and yellow Batman pajamas, and is currently kneeling on her bed with one of her little hands on the glass, her large round green eyes looking through her plastic army green binoculars; she frowns slightly watching from the blackness of her bedroom on to the outside street. Her delicate little left hand is pressed against the warm glass, her tiny fingers spread out almost as if she were reaching for something.

Her thick, useful, battered and sticker decorated spy book is lying open on top of the colorful dinosaur covers, possessing all the information that others don't have, with a pencil on top of the pages. Ready for when she is making notes of his routines, and needing to write any changes that may occur just as she would be doing in the same circumstances. Along with her pile old tattered maps, one of her father's old cell phones that doesn't work anymore, a black and yellow batman flashlight, utility belt filled with gadgets and weapons to use against the bad people. Along with blueprints of the street, she has drawn with crayons, her little Fisher Price digital camera that her mother and father brought her for her birthday, and lastly but just as important her green light saber. All the while Jasper her small and fluffy grey and black striped kitten, is fast asleep, oblivious to anything that is going on around him next to her on the her left side, and Rufus the Giraffe is sitting on her lap facing the window too. Along with her many, many action figures, that looks like she has strategically lined them up against the windowsill to help in the operation, and to look for her parents. Since she has been wondering, and feeling very confused, as to why 2 silver cars, and a black car that look like her daddy has, are parked right outside their house.

Now Millie is very observant when it comes to their street, as she likes to know the comings and goings of the people on it, sort of like a mini neighborhood watch. This is probably because she has inherited the genes from her father and grandpa, and she likes dressing up as a superhero/spy saving people.

Even though she is deaf, she was born without cochlea's or auditory nerves, Profound Deafness is what the doctors called it, and she gets frustrated easily when she feels she is out of the conversation, and likes it more if people are signing in ASL as well mouthing the words as they do so, so she can lip-read. She is a very social child, independent, intelligent, dependable, enjoys making models, Lego models, and secret plans, funny, bubbly, adventurous, helpful, considerate, a little rambunctious prankster, and full of life, and is very sporty. So very easy to get along with, is inquisitive, observant, and fascinated in learning new things, and extremely interested in other people, a little too curious Lisa thinks, but then she has inherited some of her father's traits. A little nonstop chatterbox who likes to tell stories, asks questions, or simply shares with you every thought that pops into her head or anything strange she sees, trying to teach people that being deaf is not synonymous with being stupid.

Something makes her pause, and she looks around the street silently with her eyes, her body not moving a muscle. Something is different, and with a disappointed grunt, she drops her binoculars onto her chest and reaches out with her left hand slowly over to grab her light saber, feeling a little agitated at being interrupted. Then, as the bed dips and she feels somebody is stroking her long dark brown straight shiny hair. In natural response, Millie angles her head, watching vigilantly as her grandfather sits on the bed beside her, whilst also looking out the window, and talking on the phone. She can tell by his facial expressions, that he is talking seriously, and that it is her daddy on the other side of the phone. Nevertheless, she is becoming extremely frustrated because she feels like she is out of the conversation, so instead she decides to tug on her grandfather's green knitted sweater, while her dark eyebrows are furrowed, and her full lips are pouting in annoyance looking exactly like her father.

Joe however looks down at his chocolate haired granddaughter, and knows that look on her elfin face, that is clear mixture of her mother, inheriting her eyes, with small bits of her father. It is her famous "I want to know" expression, which is the same look she gives Lisa, him, and Jackson when they are talking and she doesn't understand. Along with added furrowed brow, the same one her father uses in the same situation. However, ignoring the expression, and the penetrating gaze on his granddaughter's face, he smiles beamingly at her, kissing her slightly creased forehead, before he moves away somewhat, and continues with the conversation in hand, his brows now furrowed, causing the skin of his own forehead to crease considerably. The end of his index finger of his right hand running across his thin lips, as though he is in deep thought, and is unable to be broken out of it.

"Um, could you maybe make a 14oz Dunkin Doughnuts coffee? There's a Snicker bar in the back of the fridge, that you may not be able to see hidden behind the 2 cartons of apple juice. I know there are some more in the back of the pantry, hidden away from the girls view." His voice sounding steady, but underneath, Joe can detect that there is deep fatherly worry in his tone.

Immediately Joe stands up again, and makes his way to the opposite room still being careful not to wake the 2 sleeping children from their much-needed slumber, by treading on the creaking floorboards. Making his way quietly along the long hallway, he comes to a half open door, and has now entered Lisa and Jackson's large master bedroom, which is painted in olive green on one-wall where the Californian queen sized bed is, and neutral tones on the others, the big wooden bed that he nearly bashes into because of the dark. Going over to Jackson's side of the bed, he grumbles incoherently as he fumbles around the modern solid wood bedside table littered with objects such as picture frames with pictures of their wedding, the girls as babies, books, and Jackson's reading glasses, before he finally finds the switch and turns on the small sliver modern lamp. Illuminating the whole room, and goes to the large window overlooking a small 2nd floor balcony and the large dark garden, to see flashes of lights reflecting from the distance. Certain, from his time in the army, that there are people watching from the rooftops of the houses behind, a most favorable spot for sniping it does provide good cover for the team, making him even more worried and uneasy than he already is. Mindful from the insightful conversations and training as to what to do in case of danger, Jackson and he have shared about Jackson's line of work, Joe has no doubt in his mind that they are sniper rifles and the people behind them are specially trained. As these weapons are specifically used to ensure more accurate placement of bullets, and most likely fitted with a telescopic sight that is employed against human targets at longer ranges. Suddenly as he looks away from the immediate danger that is straight ahead, he finds Millie standing on her little tiptoes, her tiny fingers holding on tightly to the windowsill, while her big green tired eyes are trying to see what her grandfather can see through the small gaps of wooden blinds. Interested in what the shining is, if people are out there, and why her grandpa is looking out of the window too, because to Millie, people are a favorite theme of major interest especially with the overactive imagination of hers. "That coffee is not possible seems to be out of order, and may disrupt girls." He says in authoritative sounding voice, laced with direct urgency, whilst his left hand is ruffling his middle granddaughter's dark hair, and he smiles thinly at her.

Instantaneously he swiftly lets go of his granddaughter's dark hair, turning to face the door again, promptly but silently walks around the bed, this time being able to see and through to the hallway, on his way back into Millie's bedroom. The little dark haired girl following right behind, being just as quiet as her grandfather does, while her face expresses concern, excitement, and intrigue. When he gets back to Millie's bedroom, he sits back down on the soft cotton duvet, while little Millie climbs easily back up, and crawls back to the spot she was in before, to look back out of the window again, sitting next to him. Joe meanwhile is craning his thick neck to see the black BMW again, with a somewhat smile of relief. "But thanks for the Snicker, I could certainly use that, I was wondering what that was, there was no wrapper." He replies, as he turns to Millie, who is now tugging at his sweater again, he smiles down at her, shushing her with his lips. He knows she is becoming increasingly frustrated, because he isn't facing her, and she is unable to lip read, at that moment she resembles both her mother and father. However, the truth is, she wouldn't understand the code anyway, the thing is, she will be asking questions anyway and that's what he is dreading most, since she is the one to have seen the cars outside, while being the most inquisitive of his 3 grandchildren.

* * *

><p>Waiting a moment for Joe's words to absorb, Jackson lays his head back on the headrest in frustration, but not letting it show on his face, he clears his throat; while he lets, his eyes roam around the plane for a minute. Before, he answers Joe back, his voice is slightly cracked, and his composure is becoming less than perfect. "Well maybe, it's best to stick to regular, with 3 sugars and cream. There's an assortment of chocolate chip cookies, you can choose from too, in the pantry middle shelf to the left of the cereals."<p>

Jackson looks discreetly Lisa's way, as her green shining eyes meet his, trying to glean from his face what is going on.

However, what she can see, from the haunted look around his translucent eyes, is that he isn't telling her everything and something is terribly wrong back at the house. She will ask him later when he is finished with the call to elaborate. She feels that he will answer any of her questions she will ask, for now, that was enough.

* * *

><p>"That might be my best choice; I'll try if the girls will let me." Joe answers with a small laugh, as he pulls the covers over on Millie's bed, and signals with a large happy smile, signing as well for her to get in.<p>

An annoyed Millie glares at him for a moment while she crosses her arms, sticking out her tongue testing her grandpa's limits, before seeing her grandfather is serious, she knows they're non-negotiable. She reluctantly crawls slowly back into the bed, and then blinks her big beautiful green eyes up innocently at Joe, while he is folding the brightly colored dinosaur duvet cover in tightly all around her. Reminding him of Lisa when she was a little girl, and wanted to stay up late with him, to watch the comedy marathon.

Once he knows the girls are finally in a deep slumber, phones Jackson's boss, and gets Millie's scooter and Emily's bike inside from the front garden, maybe tidying the toys that have somehow accumulated in the hallway into the toy basket. That usually when Lisa and Jackson are home, they have some 'cleanup time together' incorporated into their daily routines and even have an incentive chart, complete with gold stars and other bright colored ones, that if they get one all week, it equals this week a trip to the bowling alley. Finally, he will be sitting up, leaving the hallway lights on, watching the comedy marathon on silent or a low volume, and he will be listening armed with Lisa's field hockey stick and a gun. He will be waiting for the slightest noise; the slightest indication that something is amiss; that the people outside are out of their cars, and are on their way inside the house and he will spring into action. It is the only way he can work at the moment, and the only way he is able to protect his young grandchildren. He will be damned, before he lets some greedy and fraudulent politician or anybody evil, get men to come in and hurt one delicate hair on any of their tiny heads.

Suddenly Jackson's voice reverberates down the speaker, sounding like it is back to normal, while also sounding like he is smiling too. "Okay, we'll see you in the morning; get some rest, while they are sleeping okay." There's a short pause, before his voice comes back down the receiver. "We'll see you, and the three little monsters in the early hours, okay?"

Joe signs with both hands to Millie to lie down calmly and directly enough that she will obey him without any resistance, while he is speaking on the phone balanced on his right shoulder to Jackson. Before she does, Millie grabs for her baseball mitt from the little white wooden paneled bedside table, lying down in her dinosaur patterned bed covers with a huge huff that blows her fringe a little away from her bright eyes, and holding Rufus as tightly around his neck as much as she can with her left arm.

"Okay Jackson, but I'm sure you know what the response will be from the girls if they heard you. I'm not a monster daddy, I'm a fairy princess, and I'm a fairy secret agent superhero." When he answers what the girls will say in response, the tone sounding more of a high-pitched whine, than his usual deep gruff tone. This is while he grabs her thick-paged, black, sticker covered spy diary, and the many small toys she has gathered from the end of the bed, and sorting them into piles, before reaching underneath the white wooden bed, and putting them back into their rightful places, in her colorful plastic toy boxes under the bed.

* * *

><p>Jackson knows that in matters of fairytales or Disney, he is a bit of a reluctant expert, having three small daughters, over the years they have watched a ton of those kinds of movies with him. As he thinks about that, he smiles warmly, and wishes he could lean down to give them all a big hug and a goodnight kiss, Emily with her princess fabric doll, her kitten curled up next to her. He knows she is most certainly going to be dreaming of a magical land, where she is the princess on an adventure to wonderland. At the same time as Millie and her strange sleeping arrangement, with her giraffe, baseball mitt, kitten, and light saber by her side. Dreaming of spies, and secrets, as she attacks enemies with her weapons and save the day. While little Olivia is curled into a small ball, chewing on her bunnies ears, with her kitty, and dreaming of butterflies and cats. "I know, let them know mommy, and daddy will be there soon, and we are looking forward to their delicious breakfast when we get home." He says softly and affectionately almost dreamlike down the phone, to which he hears Joe wearily gruff answer, and say a 'bye mommy and daddy, from Millie' before hearing a loud click. Leaving the unbearably deafening end call tone, he sits there for a second, rubbing his scruffy cheeks with his fingertips of his left hand, while he tries gathering his conflicting thoughts.<p>

Before he sets the phone back on the receiver onto the hard plastic base with a loud click, trying his hardest not to slam the phone, and breaking the base into pieces. He turns to a concerned looking Lisa, and wishes she could have said goodbye to their daughters on the line, so she wouldn't feel so sad about him getting to, and it breaks Jackson's heart. This is not what he wants, and he doesn't want his little girls worrying about them, and knowing that bad people are outside. "Leese, you're not going to like this." He says softly leaning forward, and in a tone that will grabs hold of her.

Lisa watches him, her eyes not leaving his face, and all she can see is the sincerity in his eyes, as tears well up in her eyes, but she tries to remain defiant, sighing, at the same time as she starts sitting up straight, wondering just how they got into this mess. At least she had heard her father's and little Emily's voices. The only thing is does she really want to hear this? After all the things, that she has heard from him in the past few hours? Does she really have a choice? Lisa pulls her hands along her temples hard enough, painfully enough, to keep her tears at bay. She finally says with anger flaring inside her, that her voice is low, and full of unconcealed venom. "What is it you're going to tell me Jackson huh, that their not safe. I've already gathered that, because of the look on your face." She can tell he is preparing himself, by the way he's trying to keep his composure with her, as though any minute he is about to explode into a murderous rage. As she lets hatred engulf her in the hope that she can suck every ounce of willpower out of it, an unexpected realization dawns on her. What she sees in its place, surprises her. Instead of the man that is threatening her father and daughters, she sees Emily's bright blue eyes, and Millie's freckles, just like their father's.

He takes a quick glance around the cabin, at the passenger seat, who seems to be sleeping, reading the in-flight magazine and hefty paperback novels they brought for the flight, or just staring ahead of them, looking utterly bored. Jackson narrows his piercing blue eyes to his right for a second; letting them show all intense rage and malevolence he is feeling, before turning his head back to his wife still staring at him, with a strange look in her eyes. He recognizes, that the more lost, vulnerable, and desperate she seems. It's likely that she will turn all the more stronger, dangerous, and unpredictable.

The thought of that and the situation makes Jackson takes swallows audibly hard, trying to get rid of the thick lump and painful tightening that has started to accumulate again. "Millie has seen the cars outside the house, and she's told Emily about it." He whispers, in a softer tone that sounds slightly strained, than his eyes are showing at this moment.

At that point, Lisa shakes her head and bites her lower lip, trying her hardest not to burst into a new stream of tears, instead she concentrates on shooting daggers at him with her eyes, and her fists clenched, as she hisses at him harshly. "Millie can see them, Jackson you know Millie is nosy when she wants to be. This means, she has probably written things in her spy diary, and is not sleeping like she is suppose to, and why Emily was wide awake and upset." Lisa's entire body is trembling with rage she is so angry right now, sending the emotions of fear and anger to shudder down her knows that since Millie enjoys gaining independence, secrets give her some control,deciding how much others need to know. However, she wishes she coulddiscuss with her that this secret needs to be shared, because if someone is doing something inappropriate, or someone is going to get hurt so that mommy and daddy can help, and she won't be angry that she has spilled the beans.

Jackson softens his voice, his eyes earnest as he runs a tired arm though his hair and leans back slightly. Still close enough, to make himself heard without raising his voice. How does he answer her question? He replies carefully, hoping she can read the sincere apology in his eyes. "I'm sorry Leese, I didn't think they would be so obvious, and park right outside the house."

For a moment, Lisa doesn't reply just blinking her stinging eyes at him, and then takes a deep breath, shaking her head. She takes a moment to absorb the words before she answers him. "So let's get this straight, my dad is dealing with Emily and Millie, who are now not only excited about later this morning, but are also scared about the cars being parked outside their windows. While Millie is still wide-awake, looking out of her window at the 3 cars she thinks are strange. And my dad is not only left to try and to get them back to bed, but also worry about those cars." She says, trying to speak in her managerial voice, only her voice comes out more shaky and heavy with emotion than she wants it to. She Damns, her heartbeat thundering in her ears again. Worrying about her little girls, because she knows that children, as well as adults experience feelings of anxiousness, worry and fear when facing different situations, especially those involving a new experience like the one they are in now. When children suffer from a severe anxiety disorder their thinking, decision-making ability, perceptions of the environment, learning, and concentration gets affected, also their reactions to danger, is going to be quicker and much stronger now. That anxiety can cause rises in their blood pressure and heart rate and can cause nausea, vomiting, stomach pain, ulcers, diarrhea, tingling, weakness, and shortness of breath. She is sure Emily and Millie already have the ulcers, and the sky high blood pressure, over worrying about their little sisters, and for Millie it is due to her keeping things to herself, which are now worsened by this situation.

Jackson explains calmly, his voice soft, and even more quiet. While his blue eyes look exhausted and concerned. "Joe's going to call Hendon; it's not safe for them to go to the Gregory's. I just hope that he can get the team to change positions and can get nearer to the house without rousing suspicion." Now he speaks a little louder, worry dripping from his words. "Livie had another nightmare didn't she, only this time much worse than usual?"

Lisa swallows, hating how vulnerable she feels, she thinks again, about how screwed up this whole situation is. So instead, she fires at him, not able to yell because of creating unnecessary attention, but wishing she could. "Yes, and dad has been trying to get her back to sleep since you told me about the phone call from Brad."

When Jackson leans close, not only looking at her, but also looking into her, amazed by the sight of the women he is proud to call his wife. He knows Lisa, at the moment doesn't think the same about him, and is rightly expected. The way she is keeping herself together, even with all the stuff that, he has thrown on her all through the flight so far. She's looking at him with no fear, her customer service face well and truly placed on her beautiful face, dressing him as though he is one of her pigheaded customers, but he can see that she is looking into him as well. All he can do is stay astounded for a moment, he wishes her father was okay, sitting in their home reading 3 little excitable girls a bedtime story, and then getting them to go back to bed. She shouldn't be worrying about there being some creeps lurking outside of their front door, and people on the plane doing the same, while her husband is in the running for the Worst husband award.

In spite of this, slowly, Lisa's face twists into an expression of irritation, but at the same time one of deep and troubled sadness. "Jackson you have some explaining to do, because right now I am trying my hardest not to commit a violent act on you." She seethes quietly, working to keep her right clenched hand down.

He berates himself intensely, in a short moment of silence. Afterwards Jackson leans closer into his wife, and answers her in a soft whisper, no anger showing in his voice at all. "I'll, tell you everything Leese, in the lavatory. First, I need you to do your best heroine in distress act, and run off down there. Can you do that for me?"

For a heartbeat, Lisa stares up at him in defiance, a resolute look on her face and feels the tears prick beneath her eyelids, refusing to let Jackson see her cry again. "Yes, Jackson, I'm not stupid." She remarks, without the slightest bit of humor or irony in her tone.

Jackson sighs exaggeratedly, making a show for the agents watching, of taking offence by her attitude. "I'll give you a few minutes, then come and see what's happening." A short pause, he turns his head slightly away, as though waiting for someone to interrupt them. After that turns his head back to face Lisa again, and continues. "Then I'll tell you everything you need to know, about this fucked up situation." He clenches and unclenches his jaw at the thought, and his blue eyes are intense. He also can feel the growing rage that is flaring inside, as an aura surrounding him; it electrifies the air around them.

Lisa shakes her head, annoyed with herself, praying that she is successfully at showing her emotions with her face, as she is searching his face with her eyes; and sees the twitch of his eyebrow showing his frustration. Convinced she continues looking at him, her eyes intense and scornfully stares. Her voice is, commanding, only wavering with anger. "You'd better Jackson Rippner, otherwise there is going to be hell to pay."


	8. Chapter 8

Authors Note: Sorry for the late update, this chapter has been hard to write, and I have been feeling low on confidence about the chapter. This is going to lead into the famous toilet scene; I know it's too early on. However, I needed somewhere for Jackson to explain to Lisa, how deep in this he is.

I would also like to thank you for your reviews, even though I know it seems very long and boring. Nevertheless, I do try to pack as much excitement in as possible. In addition, to my boyfriend, that has helped me a lot with some part of the chapter. Also for Punctuator for all her help, helpful advice, and mainly putting up with my annoying questions, and rubbish.

Lastly, I would like to apologize for the swearing in the last chapter, when I first put it up. I have changed it now, and added a few other things. In addition, I'm sorry that sometimes the chapters change, it's because I am never really happy with the chapters when I put them out there for people to read, so I end up replacing them.

With that said, I hope you enjoy the chapter, please feel free to comment. I would also like to apologize if this authors note has sounded rude, I didn't mean to.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8 <strong>

The lighting in the cabin is now dim, creating an eerie atmosphere. That isn't helped as there is silence between the couple again, and it is palpable. However all around them, they can hear the rumblings of conversations of some of the other passengers around them, and the awful earsplitting tinning of people listening to loud music through headphones. All this is whilst they wait for the right moment, where they can permit to wander the cabin freely and finally talk. Both of them are being so careful, not wanting to seem too suspicious to the agents, fellow passengers, or the flight attendants. Through the tumult of comings and goings, passengers are stretching and exercising their aching muscles, from the cramps of being seated for too long in the uncomfortable seats. On the other hand, there are people hobbling along the aisle, trying to walk to the toilets for long time relief. However, every one of those eyes feels as though they are watching the both of them. Waiting for a free moment, when Lisa is able to take the chance to make her way to the privacy of the small enclosed bathrooms, and there isn't such a long wait for their use.

Taking this as an opportunity, Lisa grinds her teeth together, and with a defiant stare at him as she rubs her cold clammy hands, roughly down the smooth fabric of her dark skirt. While her watchful eyes keeps tabs on the coming, and goings of the line for the toilet. The blood drumming in her ears is almost deafeningly. That it feels like the waves, of the beginning of a tension headache, because Lisa's mind is starting to churn through the words Jackson has just told her about the girls. Furthermore, she is now suffering from an acute need to do severe harm to not only Jackson, but also the people she knows who are watching them. Knowing it is a fact, that she has the strength and determination to thump one Mr. Jackson James Rippner, and the agents exceptionally hard in the jaw. With methodical reciprocated respect, on Jackson's part and she has to accept this in mind and in no way let it go.

Her focus now is on doing everything in her power to secure their children's safety, and they will permanently be first in her life; they are her main priority, along with making sure Jackson and herself come up with an approach to the situation. As it should be the same for Jackson, because Millie and Emily seeing those cars, furthers her need to get down to the truth, and protect the little creatures that are unknowingly in danger. Understandably, she knows they are also being the kind sweet little girls they are, and are protecting their younger sister, and helping their grandpa. Doing exactly what mommy and daddy told them to do, when they had their special talk about strangers. She can still hear the words coming from her husband's lips in a soft and gentle voice, when he spoke to Emily on the phone and the image of their oldest daughter sitting in her bed with grandpa, listening to her daddy absorbing everything he says. "Emmy sweetie, do you remember what we do if we don't know if they're friendly or not? We keep an eye on them like Millie is, are alert, and do what Grandpa Joe tells you to do, okay?" During the conversation, he had the smile that shined with the weary pleasures of a tremendously proud experienced father. Then when he turned to look at her his eyes, they were warm and comforting, turning a shade darker. However right now, she desperately needs to be alone, and have some time to breathe and continue to contemplate a plan. Ahead of Jackson hitting her with the explanation as to why they are in this disarray, and why a benevolent respectable man with children himself, would want to have men harm her father and young family.

On the other hand, progressively feeling his persistence leaving him, as the adrenaline starts pumping, and Jackson can't help but shake his leg in expectation. He too starts to contemplate over what he is going to say to her in the bathroom. He knows what he had said, was with shame and regret in his voice. He continues to stare at her, even though it is not a simple task, as she looks away to analyze what he had just said. He continues to watch her, still keeping an eye out on the agents and the queue for the bathroom. Studying how her shoulders are all tightening,

That will be causing the muscles in her strong lean back to do the same, which means she is furious, at the situation and at him especially. For a moment, he forgets all about the people that are watching, the situation they are in, and the thoughts as to how he is going to explain Keefe and his deception to her. Noticing how the sight of her being so physically and mentally powerful, permanently astonishes him. She looks so beautiful like that. Yet he recognizes that he is in reality, the other man that has broken her heart. He has broken to an extent, the hearts of his 3 little cherubs at home, for the first time too. He has never wanted to be known as someone, to break his partner's heart, or his children's. There has to be something else he can do, to show her how sorry he is.

When he apologizes to her, as soon it is safe for him to go inside the lavatory. There won't be no flinging her arms around him, and declaring how much she loves him. She would be one to offer him a second chance. However If she feels that he is truly betraying her, or that he's seriously threatening their family, he knows she would have no qualms in dumping him like a box of rocks. However, he would never intentionally bring his family to any harm, which was never his objective here. The truth is he wishes that they were somewhere else, where they were able to enforce plan A, the plan where they would be on a weekend away from the kids, lounging by a pool in the sunshine relaxing. This wouldn't be happening, things would be a lot calmer, and his young family wouldn't be involved. He knows she does love him still, but he needs to earn that trust back, and every chance he gets, he will do his best in the restricted parameters of the dangerous situation, to show her how sorry he is big style. Having to build her trust from the bottom upwards, and trying at least to get to back to the way they were tonight. Whether or not she buys it, trusts him again, or she forgives him, is another matter entirely. He feels though, that he is man enough, to let her accept his apology in her own good time.

Feeling him still watching her, Lisa whips her head sharply to look at him, and glowers at him warningly guarded, even through her desperately restrained fear. Except he is now showing, absolute empathy in his eyes, as they are sparkling the clearest blue with humanity and without any attempt to conceal it from the agents, not even with deceptive stoicism he has been showing on his face. Lisa purses her lips while shifting unnervingly in her seat, and with some effort, her eyes glance away from his penetrating gaze and noticing an opportunity to get out to the bathroom, Lisa had had it. When her eyes travel back to Jackson's still gentle remorseful and full of uninhibited emotional clearer than the ocean eyes, she find it hard to keep semblance. Her breath catches in her throat, causing her to choke, from the tears that threaten to start falling any second. She jumps up out of her seat, as if she has just found out she is sitting on something wet, but is interrupted midway by the still attached seatbelt, and as she watches him continuing looking at her ashamedly, his translucent eyes are now shining a little with tears too.

Lisa stops dead, she feels as though her body has just suddenly without any warning become numb and paralyzed; meanwhile her heart is pounding hard against her chest, and a thick lump is forming in her throat. Staring at the haunting face of her husband, a look she remembers the first time she saw it 3 and a half years ago, the stirrings of deep sorrow lingering on her mind and in the depths of her heart, making a cold unpleasant shiver run along her spine. She knows that usually the memories people have seldom matched up, when they hold them side-by-side to the real thing. However, in this case that isn't true. It distresses her just as much now, as it did then. Lisa feels physically ill looking at him, making her fists instantly clench tightly and excruciatingly until she can feel her small sharp nails digging deeply into the soft sensitive skin of her palm. Suddenly anger flares inside her, and she shoots daggers at him with her eyes, the weight of the last time she encountered that earnest look, is all too fresh in her mind. "I… I have to go to the restroom." She says throatily, with the tears that are threatening in her eyelids, now starting to roll down her cheek, and pressing her lips together in trembling worry. She desperately needs some space, so she doesn't have to feel so…

The sound of his name being spoken, that immediately breaks Jackson from his thoughts, shoving to one side his meaningful soulful psychoanalysis, and getting his mind back on the task in hand. He automatically finds himself paying more attention to the scenery around them, as well as the agents that he knows are watching them closely while he clenches his jaw. His eyes are no more than two contemptuous slits, making his point of view of them very much known. Before he turns back to his wife, he replies in a quiet incensed voice with warning in it, the expression on his face though is a confident and calm demeanor, with genuine compassion in his eyes. "Leese, are you ready to make the call now?"

Lisa looks at him expectantly. With her heart beating against her ribs, she unbuckles her seatbelt. She starts to stand up carefully still glaring at him angrily, letting it leak through, seething and her blood boiling feeling the rippling effects under her skin. When he actually offers to help her up from her seat, she pushes his hands abruptly away from her in bitterness. As she knows the fact, that nothing is the same anymore. Once she is standing straight, she mechanically starts to shift forwards, with the continuation of the momentum. Only stopping when she whacks firmly into the thin but powerful legs of her husband, and the toe of her right heel thuds softly against the right foot of his expensive soft leather shoe. In natural response to the action, and not being able to pull his feet back, Jackson pushes his right leg forward blocking her way. She doesn't trust her own legs, they feel too much like jelly knees, supported with sponge joints, so she stays rooted to the spot, causing her heels to dig small deep holes into the fabric of the carpet. Whereas the sides of her knees are partially leaning up against the cushioned seats both side, while her left hand holding tightly to the headrest for support. She looks down at him in shock, seeing him in a blur through her tear-filled eyes wanting so badly to prevent, the little sound of a whimper escaping her throat. Nevertheless, underneath those greeny-blue eyes, is the glare of a woman with the composure of fierce determination. "Please I have to go to the restroom Jackson?" She demands in a quiet unrelenting tone, as she looks innocently petrified at him, attempting to feign being frightened, trying to forget that the last conversation they had, and that haunted look on his face didn't happened.

When he looks up at her, he doesn't see the powerlessness others see. No, he sees the determination, and spirit of a strong woman. Internally he smiles widely, with the thought that the same spirit and strength can be found in each of their gorgeous children, all in equal measures. Jackson tries to shove to the side, his thoughts, but ends up keeping them in the back of his mind, and starts glancing around their seating area, where his eyes unexpectedly notice the somewhat dented clear thin plastic water bottle tucked inside the pocket of the seat in front of him.

Lisa's eyes immediately catch him glancing at the water bottle, her right hand balled into her fist; she looks back at Jackson glaring threateningly at him, as if to say 'Don't even think about it Jackson?' Otherwise, she is going to smack him hard in the jaw, and he will be suddenly finding himself having something in common with Henrietta. That something in common, being a need for dentures, attached with very strong adhesive. Then with two black eyes and a rack of bruised ribs, he will find himself plummeting earthwards, without a parachute to aid him. He's incredibly lucky that she's still letting him stay on the plane, he's on VERY thin ice right now, and he knows it... He surely doesn't possibly wish to make her angry, does he? Because both of them are aware of the consequences of that, though she is sure, he will deem it as well deserved, and it is safe to state, he has been cautious with her, he is twice as much now. Still, even through her justified fury, she can't deny that he is doing his best to protect her and their children.

He looks up at her, his eyes meeting hers steadily, as he is holding his hands slightly up from a wider view, barely concealing the expression of reconciled subjugation. After all this, he feels uncomfortably ashamed that the first things his eyes had sprung to was the bottle of water, maybe not consciously, but what the hell was he thinking, hoping for by that-, this is one of the many mistakes he has made with his wife during this whole thing. Carefully Jackson, now bringing down his arms slowly to his lap, watches as Lisa starts to fidget again, and he knows before she even opens her mouth, that she will be asking, from the expression she is giving him and her body language, he can see she really has to go to the toilet.

"Okay, you know what you got me, Jackson." She says slowly, resigning herself to her predicament relieved that her voice is coming out steadier than how she is feeling with unyielding determination. Her remark has a visible effect on him; his face is staying apologetic apart from the twitch of his left eyebrow. "I'm gonna make that call, once I am finished." While she continues to watch him, she notices him giving her a small sheepish smile, still holding the apologetic look in his eyes, while his facial expression is stoic. Working hard on ignoring the look on his face, she continues, using her watery eyes to plead with him, knowing what it does to him. "But right now, you gotta let me go. I _need_ to go to the bathroom."

Still staring at Jackson, Lisa swallows hard, taking a shaky breath and relaxes as she tries to squeeze herself between the seat, and Jackson. The proximity of his body against hers makes Lisa feel a level of intimacy, the same scent, same warmth, same feel her body can never forget, which at another time, would spark a tingling sensation deep inside, that she is frightened to act upon, but right now she doesn't want to acknowledge. Instead, it makes her feel something else entirely; it makes her feel even angrier with him. Suddenly she shoots him an ominous glance in frustration, as if to verbalize to him 'And I need my bag too.' Pulling her handbag from his grasp, while her steely green eyes are looking unwaveringly at his lap where her handbag is sitting.

He raises one eyebrow at her in response, before he follows her eye line to the handbag resting on his lap that he has a strong grip on. He opens the zipper in one smooth motion, and his right hand delving down into the depths of her leather bag, while also taking an equally casual look inside and begins to make work of fumbling around the contents, for the benefit of any agents who might be watching them. "No box-cutter? Good girl." He says in a condescending voice, while he looks at Lisa's face carefully even as Lisa meets his eyes sullenly she shoots him a withering glance effortlessly without flinching. Jackson watches her with complete and absolute approval, as her hands automatically snatch the bag from him in one powerful jerk, just a notch too forceful, while she grits her teeth, and nearly spills the contents inside on the well-worn blue-carpeted floor from the force of the action. Then she zips it back up shakily, and then defiantly in one simple movement pulls it on her right shoulder still glaring at him.

That's when Lisa decides to make the movement of making her way past her husband, putting on a frightened and anxious appearance for the agents. The thought of getting away from their looming eyes and Jackson's unadulterated, so sincere open gaze, which seems to make her feel even more incensed and awkward than she does already, feels.

With effort Lisa presses up against Jackson, placing her soft palm on his warm chest, in her usual uncertain manner to slide past him into the aisle; he naturally inhales pushing in his already lean stomach to give her more space to pass and smiles softly. He feels her wobble on her feet faintly and instinctively reaches out a warm large hand to straighten her out, in a gesture of goodwill. Of course, it is done in a way, where it is hidden from the agents watching, and a way that also respects her comfort zone. Nevertheless, the action makes her glance up at him, and cease on continuing her movements. Jackson watches her, waiting for her to react negatively to their close proximity. What he sees from her darkened eyes, as her body unknowingly leans forward ever so slightly; the gentle grip he has on her hands tightens a small amount. He sees her established response to that action is cautious, and how her natural guard is now expectedly on full alert. "I'll be in, in 5 minutes okay. To let you relax, and let you think Leese, before I hit you with everything." He murmurs against her hair, closing her slightly into an embrace, slightly chest to chest along with being careful still to give her an adequate amount space to feel comfortable.

Leaning away as much as the space will allow her, she looks into his stunning warm affectionate eyes; lifting a contemptuous eyebrow, Lisa without any fear uses to answer him quietly. While Jackson just stares back at her with absolute sorrow in his eyes, and once again, his gaze is completely open, no coldness in them at all. However, Lisa finds there is no answer to that, no response to his painful glare, because she has a strong inkling that she's not going to like whatever he has to say.

Sensing Lisa's dismay, he softly lets go of her hand, Jackson drops his arm to his side, as does she mirroring him, and steps to the side giving her more room to pass him into the aisle. Where the hustle and bustle that had took place, has now trickled down to only a few people searching the overhead lockers for convenient belongings to busy them. In a natural neutral response of their intimacy, Jackson instinctively wants to place a guiding, but caring palm on her lower back, but when he thinks about it, he will have ventured into the territory of a habitual protectively considerate gesture, and knowing Lisa's reaction will not be a pleasant one, he shakes the notion off. It would only cause unnecessary attention, which would make things more difficult, and cause more distress for Lisa than there already is. Instead, he glances at his beautiful, strong, and unwavering wife, while she is trying her hardest to avoid his gaze, even though he can see her desperately struggling to keep composure and prevent the tears in her eyes from starting to run down her face. However, once she enters the aisle, he turns, taking a step back and leans himself against the hard plastic firm block armrest of his seat, to watch her with concern showing deep in his vivid blue eyes, as she gradually makes her way convincingly to the bathroom, as she glances intently around the cabin.

For Lisa though, it just feels wonderful to be able to stretch her legs finally, and be able to get away from the claustrophobic sensation Jackson is making her feel. The feeling of being unintentionally trapped, just by his gaze, the thought for Lisa is frightening, thinking of how many times he has done that to his enemies, only with coldness in those beautifully frightening emotive eyes of his, even if it was well deserved on their part. Thinking about it further, she has never seen him once show in them, any kind of coldness towards their children. As far as they are concerned, daddy loves them all lots, and is a silly, soft, goofy cheeseball, who is forever happy to see them, and a very fun man who continuously wants to play with them. Nevertheless, she doesn't want to think about that right now, not when her heavy weighted heart sinks further. Meanwhile feeling her achy feet in her heels continue to stumble on the carpet, while her shaky legs aim to synchronize with her feet, willing them on their way down the corridor in the direction of the bathroom doors. Her eyes keenly glancing around the passengers, overhearing their seemingly normal conversations they are having, and attempting to determine which ones are the agents as she passes by. Unfortunately, she cannot tell, but she can feel the steady gaze of a pair of eyes, staring at her form from behind. She finds it hard not to look around at him, so her eyes can glare at him penetratingly, willing him to go away.

He is even more protective, watchful, guarded, and taut, while the unblinking gaze he is casually casting around the cabin and the sea of people, while his eyelids are rigid as if he cannot move them, even if he tries. He stretches, using both of his hands, to smooth his hair back before the long strands of his fringe will fall back in his forehead again. Watching at the same time as his preoccupied wife stumble even closer to the restrooms, doing an impressive job, although he knows a small percentage of her emotions she is showing is pretend, and a great deal of it is real. Calmly watching her, while using his many years of training he has been given in his past and present careers, that is now professional instincts and second nature attempting not to give away the fact that his muscles are tense, senses on the edge. A coil ready to spring at anytime, the predator in him is ready to jump, fight, or escape. By using the fittingly normal trick of rotating his shoulders, at least to seem like he looks relaxed especially for the purposes of the agents. Because he's dangerously ready for action, for the attack, his eyes take another wonder around the cabin, reading the body language of the passengers. Before they land on his main and most important target Lisa, who has now reached the bathrooms and realising the one closest is still occupied, the realization making her slump heavily over to lean against the wall opposite. He takes a deep, slow breath, and exhales the same way through his nose, continuing to watch her, while chanting to himself a quiet mantra, willing her to be okay, and turn around and look at him with her intelligent lake-gray eyes, even if it's a well deserved Customer-Service Face glare just to say she is okay.

She turns to glare at him quickly clenching her teeth, with tear-filled eyes; however, she can still feel his eyes looking thoroughly into her with that remorseful expression on his face. Making her will him with her eyes to go away, to sit down, yet he just keeps his eyes intently on her, even from a distance of twenty feet away. Her body shivers with the familiar physical sensation and the emotion she had earlier, as she acknowledges how she is permitted to be incredibly furious with him right now for what he is doing to her emotions. Glaring at him still warningly, before she turns her head away again, and is somehow sure none of the passengers or agents can tell he is ready to jump any minute, intentionally hiding his emotion. In addition, it surprises her how through all the chaos and upset at the situation and particularly at him, but leading back to that delicate line in the proverbial sand. At the same time she feels somewhat secure, soothed, and above all, through the justifiable infuriation, appall, and anguish she has for him; deep down inside her heart she is grateful she knows him so well and that makes her just as irritated.

He continues to watch her carefully, his lips pressed together in frustration, keeping a stoic professional mask on his face, but his eyes are tender and regretful. Attentively observing how her back to him, shrinking in on herself, with her legs faintly sways unconsciously. Her strong lean back is all tightened up again, head bowed. Noticing how her upper arms are shaking, and has no doubt from the facade she is showing that her hands are shaking, too. He has no doubt, whatsoever that it is not all being faked for the agents and keen observant. No, it's from anticipation, restraint, worry, and dread, but mostly from fury over the situation, him being a complete jerk towards her, and the perfidy she feels he has made, additionally the deliberation about her father and their and daughter's at home.

Abruptly out of anguish towards himself for letting this happen, on a day that has already been overwhelmed with sorrow and deep heartache. Them thoughts reflexively makes Jackson feels a slight uncomfortable twitch in the muscle of his left cheek rigor-mortis; he is hoping nobody can see the subtle movement. In spite of this, he recognizes how his body responds to the reaction, trying to breathe normally through the intense ache in his chest that always accompanies it. With his thoughts subsequently straying to the vindictive men and women watching, he wishes he knew exactly how many agents are on board the flight. He can only identify a few of them by their mannerisms, but most of all, their direct eye contact and the fact he has seen them before, while one of them is being transparently apparent with the fact. Wrathfully making him wonder, if at least two thirds of the passengers on this flight are made up with designated agents, operating under misleading highly salable, substantially beneficial, and particularly sensitive information Keefe has imparted them with. Through files hacked from department hard drives onto gum sized jump drives, then sent by encrypt emails though secure VPN's, as well as paper files from the basements of the files department, where they are exchanged at nonexistent top-secret meetings behind closed doors at specifically selected departments' offices. At very least the man who is flying to Lisa's hotel with his proficiently qualified team of advisers, personal security made up of the best the government agencies have, his 2 personal assistants, together with Lydia his wife and 2 children. Along with his unsuspecting work force behind the scenes, back at Department of Homeland Security in Washington, working hard with no inclination as to what their Deputy has planned. Thinking about it further, how many agent has he got uncover at Lisa's hotel, pretending to be guests. While Keefe is acting as though he is all so innocent, and not only that, he is being underhanded by using his beautiful precious daughter's to haunt him professionally, when Keefe himself has 2 children of his own.

The thought overtakes his mind, and steals the breath out of his lungs, and he tries hard to gain control on his breathing. He doesn't like being gotten at much, not when he has made safety measures to protect his family, to make sure they would never get in harms ways. If he has to put it simply in truth, point, and fact, he doesn't like any of this at all. Keefe is threatening him with his family, at the same time as scaring his vulnerable children with men outside the perimeter of their home, while putting them in danger is not acceptable; in other words, this entire situation at hand is overall in its complications unacceptable.

A slight jerk against his left arm rouses him from his contemplation, he snaps back to the situation. His head snapped around to the side, where his eyes are drawn to the blonde haired girl, he caught Lisa watching in the airport, with her mother. He's stunned. But only for a second, the world and everything in it, his pulse and blood included, seems to go absolutely still. Forcing himself, he smiles gently down to her, no coldness, though, in the set of his mouth. His back tensing automatically, with the excuse-me tension in his shoulders, the little girl smiling at back at him with a no problem and stepping through the gap Jackson had made. That leaves Jackson to continue with his deep thoughts, and surveillance around the cabin.

Her headache is reviving, still lingering in fits and nauseating starts. While thinking about the normal things her little girls did today, Emily telling her how they played limitless amounts of games and things to do. Everything from Candyland to Chutes and Ladders to impromptu Hide and Go Seek, making bracelets for mommy and daddy, drawing pretty pictures, to running around, and riding on their bikes and scooters with their friends, before having a nice picnic at the playground for Nana. Not to mention the endless flow of _Disney _movies they watched after dinner and ice cream for dessert, after their baths, before they went to bed. She imagines that as the day was coming to an end, as evening was coming the sun just beginning to sink below the horizon, painting the sky as always on a summers evening, with an amazingly beautiful array of pinks, purples, oranges, and gold; while they were snuggled on the couch dressed in pajamas, watching _Disney's Aladdin _on the TV. Near to drifting to dreamland with no worries in the world.

Thoughts for Lisa next turn to how she doesn't know how she is supposed to react to all of this. Fresh stinging tears spring up in her eyes and she wipes them away with the tips of her fingers. She desperately wants to be able to blink and poof it will all go back to the way that it 3 days ago. Then, the actual reality of her thoughts sets in again, her babies, her precious babies, might be taken away from them, and Jackson would be responsible for that. Her knees start to buckle again and she has to press herself tighter against the cold, rough surface of plastic coated wall for more support just to remain on her feet. She could feel her head starting to pulsate again, drumming in her ears and the tears ready to burst. She just wanted this night to end, for Jackson to stop this. As she stands there composing herself again, chanting through the throbbing how she has to remain strong, and using her thumb to twist her white gold wedding band around the her third finger as a distraction. Struggling to stop herself from looking around at her husband's compassionate expression and glare at him with absolute venom in her eyes, she feels a small prickle in her neck and turns around.

"Excuse me, are you in line?" The blonde haired little girl asks softly, in a child-like voice from behind the woman leaning against the wall in front. She leans around and looks to see the woman is crying, distressed, and in a world of your own, just like the man standing in the aisle.

"Is that you, Emmy sweetie?" She asks in a soft whispered, in croaked voice, while her mind is still on the thoughts of her daughters.

When Lisa does whip her head around, instead of seeing her little auburn haired daughter, she sees the little blonde haired girl from the airport that has silently shown up standing patiently behind her. She immediately snaps out of her reflection, back to the reality of the circumstances, and quickly risks a glance at Jackson, to find him still watching her intently, with a sorrowful look in his eyes and a small sheepish smile. Subsequently she glares darkly with the complete rancor at him she has wanted to do for a while, before forcing herself to pay attention to the little girl beside her. "Yeah, do you wanna go?" Lisa replies, swallowing heavily, whilst keeping a hold of the stinging tears she feels are about the fall.

"You were here first," the young girl says with a small smile, shaking her head.

Lisa nods and turns away, she was hoping that the little girl would accept her offer to go ahead of her; at least it would have bought her given her some time so not to attract some attention to herself and Jackson, when he comes to the bathroom.

The toilet door finally opens, and before the man inside can come out of the door, Lisa pushes past him abruptly. The smell of chemicals from the open door, hits her nose immediately, causing that gagging feeling in the back of her throat and her head to throb further. Even as the man looks at her with her a strange look, in his eyes. Except she doesn't care, and goes inside the small sanitized cubical slamming the door behind her closed and locking it.

Consequently, that leaves the young girl to look back with a small smile at Jackson, who is standing there seemingly looming like a threatening shadow. However, she notices how his eyes are lost in deep thought, while also warm and glowing; yet, his jaw is flexed and the muscle in the side of his face keeps twitching slightly.

In the meantime, in the toilet, Lisa's high-heeled feet staggers over to the toilet, her legs still feeling like jelly. Once she gets there, she collapses onto the cold hard plastic seat, shaking and crying for her grandmother, the Keefes, the fear for her father and her children, struggling to compose herself she thinks about her beautiful daughter's at home blissfully unaware of what was happening 30 thousand feet above them. Her stress levels have rocketed, as she hopes that they are okay, the stress caught up with her a sick feeling comes into her stomach, while the throbbing in her head becomes worse and she starts to sob.

"Oh god." She groans, putting her clammy hands to her equally sweaty forehead. Lisa body slumps to the side, and she starts to bang her head against the wall softly, why was this happening to them? Why are they being put through this torture they didn't deserve this? Are they the only family being threatened by Keefe? Her father should to be sleeping in his favourite chair by now, and if he isn't he ought to be. She knows he would probably turn on the television, watching nothing but those late-night drivel run on commercials, which hypnotize you in wee-hours with their suggestive-sell. Selling everything from Ninja swords, paper shredders, wet vacs, ripped abs, and real estate. Naturally, the affectionate worry cuts both ways: she doesn't want to encourage his insomniac tendencies any further, and she knows how excited her little girls are about them coming home, on top of this. She will call him as soon as she can. She would not sacrifice any of her family. Why couldn't Keefe just leave them alone? Why is it their family being threatened? She plays with her necklace she has on. Jackson had given it to her on their 8-year anniversary that had just passed...

She squeezes her eyes shut, thoughts of her father and young innocent children, make her heart shrinking into a tiny painful ball. "Come on Lisa, you can do this." She says to herself in a grunted voice, with her teeth well and truly clenched, and grinding together. She feels helpless; she feels deeply, angry and ashamed._ Keep it together, Lisa_ _it's time to focus__. People need you._ Lisa's heart is pounding hard into her chest. A mix of elements blending to unreality: the day itself, the fact that she is very tired and very wound up from the funeral, all at the same time. He is part of her life, her breath, her world…when it comes to him and her kids…she is capable of anything. All she wants is for them to be a normal, happy family again. Why does it have to be so goddamn hard? What has Jackson and his company got themselves in to? Well tonight, she intends to find out, and the agents are going to find that out what she is capable of, as she will remind Jackson Rippner of this fact too. It has definitely sent her to a place that she has never been to before, that she has to think, so much for stress management.

She has to start thinking of a way to stop this, concentrate on why is he so sure that Keefe has some terrible secret is trying to hide? She starts to gathers her thoughts and a bit calmer, her hands falling to her side, she places them against the wall, and pulls herself up, gritting her teeth. "Okay, get up Lisa." She pushes herself up, keeping one hand on the wall; while with the other, she runs her fingers quickly through her locks and wiped mascara from under her eyes and wiping it down her skirt. Trying to move away from the wall is an act of will. Fear and shock have pressed the left side of her with all the gravitational force of a space launch. It feels as though she can feel her lungs collapsing. Afterwards with all her might and wiping her tear filled eyes again with her hand, she grunts dragging her space walking feeling feet, and wobbly feeling legs to the hand basin, and turns on the tap. Letting the cold water, cascade down the plastic sides to the plug hole, so she can rinse out her mouth from the bile starting to sting the back of her throat, and to wash her shaking hands, and tear stained face. As she begins to wash her face in the basin, she looks up at her reflection in the mirror, at the pale and distressed woman in the mirror, that she recognizes, and her mind begins to wandering again. She begins to recognize that, he cannot prevent the apologetic appearance on his features, even through the frustration and distress she feels, he in truth is genuinely regretful for what he is doing, but it just hurts too much to see him that way as a reminder of what had been and that both annoys and saddens her even further. She shakes her head, and returns to the present as she turns her stinging red eyes to look at her watch, telling her that only a few minutes have passed since she stepped in here; only it feels like an eternity. She should get a knock on the door soon; she stares back into the mirror, and wonders what he is doing right now.

* * *

><p>Jackson is beginning to worry, and as a result, a little frown appears on Jackson's forehead as he sucks on his lower lip in thought. The frown becomes deeper as he contemplates the memories; now as he looks back at it, at the beginning foretells how it was going continue: after a great start, it just got horrible when he was forced into completing this assignment; he has always had reservations about, and now has become the outright disastrous Keefe case. Watching the cabin again, Jackson is fully aware of the effect his gaze has on the sea of seated people, he has been told they can be chilling, to be honest he doesn't believe that. However, he never hesitates to use it to his advantage concerning an assignment on the right people. Nevertheless, his eyes are his father's eyes, as well as being inherited into his own family, too. Furthermore, he knows that the members of his family are just as warm, loving, caring, and greatest people that anybody is ever likely to going to meet. One thing he promised himself, and Lisa was never to show this side of himself to them, unless he absolutely considered necessary to for their sakes. This doesn't prevent him in any way, from staring at those agents right now, while Lisa is away from prying eyes and his intentional gaze, in the bathroom safe waiting for him. Not seeing him feeling a perverted sense of gratification and vindictiveness when they look directly into his eyes, and they flinch, making them look away from him. Most of the time it has won him battles, arguments and finished assignments quickly when he was in the field. This time though, he is simply reveling in scrutinizing which passengers are agents, they are all on dangerous ground right now, and he wants them all to know that. While he continues in the task of examining their subconscious body language, his stare pulls out of them; it tells him more than any words could.<p>

Taking his mind back to thinking of Lisa, he thinks how she hasn't crumbled yet as the agents are probably expecting, like Jackson did, all those years ago, she has instead been strong and courageous. Nevertheless, suddenly she has disappeared into the restroom as they agreed, and is clearly disturbed after their last conversation, which in turn makes him bothered. _You should be Rippner!_ The little voice in his head tells him, as he makes his way cautiously and watchfully to the bathroom to explain what the hell is happening, and how they are going to get out of this.

* * *

><p>Using breathing exercise, and with thoughts from her management, training, flowing though her head, as if she is sitting in front of a computer screen, like one of those scrolling screen savers. On how to approach this, the first one being calmly handle the situation, which is one of her favorites; and one she always keeps on her top ten ways to handle stress, however it's a little hard with this circumstances. Also on the list is, assess the situation from all angles, not just yours, as well as, rely on facts, not assumptions, these she has processed from work, and is too one of Jackson's many work ethics that she has picked up over the years.<p>

Feeling a little calmer now with her thoughts, Lisa straightens her appearance again, straightening her blouse and cardigan after that her somewhat mussed hair, knowing exactly what she is going to do. Suddenly she jumps slightly, as there is a small, knock on the door, that makes her feel dread, exasperated, as well as feeling hopeful. She takes one last look in the mirror. Before she, hesitantly starts to totter along the smooth floor, to the locked door that through her irritation, worry, and stinging tears eyes, seems so far away in comparison to when she walked in. Once she manages to make her way there, she places her sweaty right hand on the doorknob, which nearly slipping off the cold metal, as she turns it ever so slowly and cautiously, bracing herself emotionally and physically, with deep breaths. Because she knows that as soon as she opens that door, she is going to be facing him again, and she has no idea how either of them is going to react.


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors note:** Sorry for the wait for this chapter, trying to get everything to sound as accurate and had to do tons of research on all the different agencies, and the army, trying to fit it into the story as possible. While with the action scene, I'm not sure if I pulled it off okay. To be safe, I am warning and apologizing for a very long chapter, spouse abuse, and some swearing. I'm sorry this chapter has run on for so long, this is an important chapter for later on. I hope I haven't bored everybody to tears, and I hope I haven't put people off from reading further.

As always, I would like to thank you for reviewing, especially Clover X11 for your kind words, all in which have encouraged me to continue. I would also like to thank Punctuator for being a really good person, with helpful advice, and mainly putting up with my annoying questions, and rubbish, and helping me with this mess of a chapter. I hope you enjoy this chapter, please review, as all comments are always very much appreciated. I find writing is good therapy for me, as it is allowing me to let out the many deep-rooted feelings I have, and cannot express publicly myself. I am so sorry for making this chapter so long, and arduous to read, but it's a very important chapter. I know my story isn't the best written in the world, and that it has too much detail. But all comments and reviews keep me writing, even though it seems like nobody is reading this, and I am better off deleting this story and never writing anything again.

Also, check out her new story, Red Lights: Over the Ocean. It's a prequel of a new Cillian movie, and it's excellent, full of horror, adventure, and mystery, kind of like The X-Files. It's in the Misc Movies section, and might be hard to find, please go and read it, and if you enjoyed it, please give it a review or comment.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

**In the back with your racks and you're unstacking your load.**

Standing quietly at the door after knocking and asking if everything was okay, to seemingly look normal and throw off anybody watching, and the flight attendants who may become suspicious. He is not really worried about the attendant that served them the water and tissues, she saw the look in Lisa eyes, and could tell how distraught she is. The red headed attendant however may perhaps be more of a hindrance, seeing that she looks by the book, and the manner of which she was conducting herself tonight when they were both flirting earlier, it wouldn't surprise him if she preferred something to transpire so she could make a fuss. This would cause unwanted interest towards them, and causing an already complex situation to be even more tortuous for all of them in its obviousness.

Being ever so watchful of everybody, Jackson waits patiently for Lisa to unlock, and open the door for him. While waiting, he takes a couple of deep breathes through his nose, and out through his mouth, which causes him to yawn and using his right hand to cover his mouth, reminds him just how exhausted he is. Once the yawn has subsided, he instantly goes to grab for the door handle, only he stops when he gets to the handle, letting his hand hover above it shaking. On his right side, he can hear the crashing and banging sounds of the attendants progressing in the arduously task of preparing the pre-packaged meals, which are customarily served to passengers, and are generally eaten, out of sheer hunger and boredom. He can smell the inexpensive indigestible processed food being heated in the microwave, and although he doesn't want it to, the aroma is making his stomach start to gurgle inside in hunger as it definitely grumbles loud enough for people to hear. Even though Lisa's mother and great aunts, put on an elaborate delectable feast fit enough for a Tudor banquet fit for a king. To his left, he can see rows of heads, all uniformity facing forwards, no one is looking suspicious or turning around to watch him right now, but that could all change as soon as he is looking away.

Now that the flight is on night lighting, the cabin is considerably dimmer; most people have their reading lamps on, dotting the landscape. He imagines now, that most people have their eyes closed dozing, while their heads are nodding to the earphoned beats pumping loudly away into their ears drums as if they are at a rock concert. Reminding him of his little angel Olivia, when she is stressed out from everybody, she likes nothing more than sitting in her sheeted tent, with her headphones on, laying on her many comfortable cushions and rocks soothingly in time to the music playing. Repeating the same song repeatedly, until she gently drifts off into her own magical land somewhere that he will never understand or get to go. The image of the youngest little girl like that always makes him smile, although right now, he feels a burning intense ache in his chest, and he knows that it's the overwhelming remorse eating away inside him. Being a husband and a father has changed him in so many ways, but the ways that it has changed him are significant and worthwhile. He has learned since having his children, that he doesn't only want to protect Lisa's life, and their precious little ones, he wants to shield them from certain things, this being one of them. He knows that Lisa is fully capable of dealing with what he did in his past careers, and what he does now; nevertheless, he doesn't want her to have to deal with this kind of exposure, where their family is involved. If it were possible to avoid exposing her to the gory details of Keefe's plans, he would go to any lengths to see that it was done.

Casting his eyes at the blonde girl, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, as she leans back against the wall in silence. Jackson gives her a weary smile, and notices that she can see that his eyes are glossy as if he has been crying, or is just as upset as the woman in the bathroom is. Inside it, sounds like soft sobs are coming from the bathroom, but they are the only ones that can hear them.

As soon as the sound of the locking clasp, slide from its scarlet side: IN USE, to the green, with the VACANT in dark bold lettering. He can also hear the sound of his wife's heels clipping the hard surface of the floor, as she attentively; moves away clear of the door. The door opens wide, and he can see Lisa standing quite away behind the fresh hold, just out of sight of interfering eyes, while her dangerously intense all bloodshot eyes are looking at him very evenly, as though she is trying to master the ability to kill him, with a simple glare. He makes sure that no one is in close proximity, before he watches her as carefully with a frown, and sincere concern in his eyes and features, as much as she is watching him, wondering who will be the one to make the first move, and trying to map the other's intentions.

Once Jackson cautiously enters the bathroom, his throat constricts at the smell of the industrial strength sanitizer. He automatically turns his head slightly to the side, so that she can see the left side of his profile, a slight hesitation on his lips. Where his eyes fall to the mirror, reflecting himself back perfectly, and expecting to find a row of block letters written in the condensation or even soap lather, knowing she, indeed, would have left a message, a very eloquent one that would have successfully summed up her opinion of him. Something simple and straight to the point like: 'Fuck you, Jackson Rippner you're a pathetic loser'. However, on the other hand Lisa wouldn't want to attract attention to this situation, nevertheless if he was a complete stranger threatening her in this way, she would have no qualms in making it known something was happening to her, and truth be told, he wouldn't blame her either. Before she breaks an object over his head, perhaps, or possibly Knocks him out, into stone cold unconsciousness, to make an escape and alerts the crew of what is going on, and then going through the hundreds and hundreds of ways, of hitting him exceptionally hard a few more times for good measure, while she waits for them to come.

"I was wondering…?" He asks quietly and somewhat uncomfortably, however is cut off when he sees, her raise an eyebrow; as she is looking at him incredulously, as though she cannot believe he is asking her that. He nods genuinely embarrassed, with a small earnestly apologetic smile, whilst he pulls, the door closed behind him and fumbling with the lock before it locks into place, with a sharp snap of metal going into the tight secure latch that is now protecting them from the outside. He has forgotten how small she is, especially when she has been so strong. Jackson is not a very tall man, but he knows he can be as imposing as and when he needs to be. However, this is a different time though; she is not a woman he would ever want to threaten – even if he has to pretend right now for those agents, he doesn't want to think of it, still the thought haunts him, because this is more than he has ever wanted to. All he wants, is to do is make her feel secure and safe.

Her expression metamorphoses into something very strange, little red angry spots have appeared on her cheeks, as she launches herself towards Jackson. Lisa's hands reach out. Her small fingers grips for the thick material of the lapel of his jacket, letting her nails dig deep into the fibers. He meanwhile doesn't speak, doesn't protest. Surprise ripples through him, but he doesn't try to cover it. Instead, he just watches her, with shock in his heartwarming clear blue eyes, as he catches his breathe. While with a slight sneer, she yanks him powerfully towards her, throwing him off-balance. All that can be heard is the whooshing of air. In the company of, the sound of his leather shoes squeaking, alongside the rustling of his shirt. She lets out a guttural grunt, with the beat of her heels tapping on the waterproof flooring. As she quickly moves them both, spinning them round like a hammer thrower. Her skirt flies up, like a parachute collecting air. Being accompanied by, the sound of Jackson's jacket scraping noisily against the metal wall. The movement is Swift, meticulous, with plenty of follow-through. Therefore, she can slam his back up against the metal wall hard, with a loud thud. Another thud follows, as the back of his head finally rebounds with the wall and he starts to see stars before his eyes. That Leaves Jackson shoulders tense, just as he winces in pain, with a deep raw sounding grunt that reverberates from the back of his throat. The momentum caused by the action, draws Lisa instinctively closer to Jackson, keeping him in place. Stopping there, their breathing knocks their bodies together, while their chests rhythmically move in and out, rough and unsynchronized, permitting absolutely no leeway. Oddly enough, it is clear above the thrumming of the engines. At the same time they, can both feel the warmth, of each other bodies. Leaving them to regard each other, as they stand toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose, forehead to forehead, with only a few inches apart so close that his eyes have become almost blurry.

Although she isn't satisfied, that the battle means nothing; in the sum of things, the tables are now turned, and she wants to win the war. All she can see is the slight twitch around his eyes, the corner of his lips tremble, and a flicker of eyelashes, are a significant sign of a moment of uncertainty betraying him. It makes her heart jump around joyously at the sight of it, even as she inwardly gloats with sickening glee over this fact, surprising and yet terrifying even herself. While the carefulness gives a deeper shade of blue to his eyes as his pupils grow slightly. He just stays frozen, perturbed, and numbed into stony motionlessness. The muscles in her arms are tight and aching from the position as lactic acid get absorbed by her muscles, causing them to shake to some extent along with the indignation. The rush of adrenaline, anger, and euphoria she is feeling, somehow outweighs the pain. However, she doesn't care, through the pain, and surge of hormones; her voice is barely above a whisper, low and resonating in the close moist air between them, hoping this is sending cold shivers down his spine. "I've been married to you for 8 years Jackson James Rippner, and never once have I been more fucking pissed off with you as I am right now." She indeed intends to sound and give him a death glare, so fierce and severe, except her voice suddenly carries the sharpness of a knife's edge, and dripping with pure bitterness. She doesn't miss his startled reaction to her vehemence words, the tightening of his jaw and the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows hard, then winces in guilt as he tries not to look away from her, because it has achieved her purpose.

He sees the wild storm in her eyes, nailing him with their menacing indignant intensity, as she holds her ground, looking even more beautiful and courageous, as she has ever been, while clenching her jaw, her chin lifted defiantly, and nostrils flaring with fury. She radiates with power, and secretly he loves seeing her dilution like this, he has always had a fascination for strong women. He has to admit though, the fluid motion and raw strength of which she used to swing him, impresses him. She's permanently been a tough, instinctive fighter, in excellent condition, he has always wanted her to become a skillful one, learning as much as possible about personal defense and offense. With her longevity and her willingness to want to know, she will see this through to the bitter end. He knows exactly why she hurtled him to the wall, and he doesn't blame her, all she is doing is being a frightened and protective mother, by protecting her little ones. She's also enraged with him for not informing her earlier, furthermore she wants to know what the hell is going on. What's more, he is inwardly berating himself with shame; he has to divert his gaze for a moment, letting her know she has won the battle. "I know Leese, I'm so sorry." He says with a dry throat, which feels as though it possesses the unclean feeling, he wonders if his body is finding every small way possible to demonstrate to him his guilt, fear, and shame pouring off of him. Concurrently he holds his hands up in surrender, concomitantly his voice is steadier, and even than he thinks it sounds, as he is still unwilling to look at her, his expression is contrite, while his eyes spell out an uncomfortable shame, responsibility, and appreciation in the company of a confession of defeat. He doesn't really want to witness, the exasperated, mistrust, and unreserved disappointment in her eyes at his apology, aware he is putting his head straight into the lion's mouth.

Suddenly, the room falls into thickening dead silence, as the seconds tick away mercilessly. However, Lisa with a determined stare sucks in her bottom lip between her teeth; to prevent its trembling, afterwards she slowly releases it. Waiting for him to look back at her; making her wonder when did they switch roles? When did he become the weak one? It is like a game of chess between them and she has won. Checkmate. Jackson can have an intense presence in everything he does at work, which is probably why it feels like he can own any room he enters, and any meeting he conducts. That ability has so far worked well for him, when he has been and pretending to threaten her, how it has been intended to break down her barrier towards him. Right now his clear blue eyes are repentant, and reluctant to meet her own, her intent is to search his face for clues, anything, which can determine what she wants to know, about what is going on. Because she hates the control she has gained over him, in spite of this, at this moment the domination, exhilaration, and exaltation Lisa finds it, in a way, makes her want, to break him down. Although she doesn't want to feel this kind of a high every day, but she knows she certainly deserves to cut loose now.

When he glances back over at Lisa, into her enormous green eyes that are brimming with hurt, dread, tears, and questions needing to be answered, he understands that she needs him more than his job since the beginning. She is looking at him with anger-fueled vehemence, her bottom lip is red and swollen with an angry bruise where she has chewed at it from the time it had spent between her teeth, and her soft tongue delicately runs over it, assessing the damage, before disappearing back inside. Still holding him tightly by his lapels, where the collar is now digging into the back of his neck, and knows it is causing an angry red mark to appear. Even as the tension in her jaw is so tight, that she thinks her teeth were going to shatter, her accusatory facial expression says. 'Don't even try me Jackson; it's your entire fault!' She has to try to keep her tongue from escaping, so not to take back her cruel words she has said, remembering all his cruel words to her. Because as much he has hurt her, as he has terrified her, making her say and do things she doesn't want to do, there is the blunt resentment towards him, and it frightens her more than Jackson Rippner ever can. She just simply wants him to respond, with an answer to her question.

He looks at her for a long time, saying nothing, his eyes poignant and concern on his features, scanning her beautiful face. For a second, the world and everything in it, his pulse and blood included, seems to go absolutely still and cold. While the ground feels as though it's tipping beneath his feet. He can't quite catch his breath. Especially when he can faintly smell the intoxicating scent of jasmine, her shampoo, and wonderful scent of her perfume mixed something that he never tires of, because it is hers. In spite of this, she doesn't let those blue of her irises, deep in the granite-gray of eyes, glassy with tears look away from him.

What he sees in its place stuns him, knowing all too well that she could beat him into a bloody pulp that couldn't be identified, and there definitely wouldn't be enough left of him to scrape up and bury in a jar. Just as much as he would let her for all the shit, he has put her through – both of them know it. He knows she's not by any standards of the dictionary or psychological categorization a sociopath or psychopathic developing a lust for blood, but she definitely does have a belied steel-tough interior and a temper, and he knows her physical capabilities. Lisa Henrietta Rippner can be one dangerous woman, if she is cornered or if she believes herself or their children to be victimized, a woman who would do what she has to when pushed far enough, and he has unintentionally violated her with both, while also pushing her too far off the deep end. He is cognizant that she is elegant, surprisingly agile, athletic, and can handle herself physically, something of an adrenaline junkie, as well as guarded but strong, with strong morals, stubborn, and a complex personality. She is someone who is levelheaded, smart, mature, and authoritative, feeds on tension, deals with pressure very well, can think on your feet, and extremely devoted to her job and being an excellent mother to their children. As an alternative, of the woman that is looking at him with warranted frank rage, fury, and questions in her beautiful eyes as though he is one of the men outside the house, along with the acceptable hate she has towards him at the moment, although there isn't repulsive revulsion that she feels towards her other attacker. He would like to thank the man who'd done this to her: because the assault had forged enough fire and power in her to lash out at him, making her stronger, and more fearlessness, even if she, at this moment, doesn't realize it.

To be fair, at the exact second she looked at him, before throwing him against the wall in the airplane mod con, he hadn't fully realized it either. However, right now, there is a passionate loathing, but she doesn't fear him. Looking at her features more closely, all he sees is Millie's beautiful sparkling emerald eyes and the intense looks she likes to give, along with her feistiness. As well as Emily's stunning waterfall of reddish-brown kinky curls and sweet little round face, with her good nature. At the same time as also, seeing Olivia's magnificent rosebud mouth smile and gorgeous laugh, on the very rare occasions she does, with her dimples showing on her light pink glowing cheeks. All of them, not only look just like their mother, but have most of her personality too. Recognizing how she has always been his redemption, and the love of his life, as well, as how because of this realization, he is very tempted to grab her, yank her closer to him, hold her there forever, and comfort her. However now isn't an appropriate time for that, she's understandably angry, and he needs to disclose his sins.

For a moment, Lisa with her mind in overdrive straightens her posture, scrutinizing his face earnestly, openly, without fear, her eyes following the familiar lines she knows better than anyone in this world does, and tries very hard not to drown. Time stops still, the atmosphere heavy with emotions, while around them, everything is distorted into a thick warm haze, and it is just them alone, staring at each other. On a certain level, it is not possible anymore to face him, with the old bone-freezing fear, but something in his manner is still very much disconcerting. From her position, she can smell his scent, which is somehow overwhelming, intrusive, daunting, and astounding, a mixture of shower gel, shampoo, and his expensive cologne, all collectively musky, sweet, and sour, yet so characteristic of him, at the same time as also being entirely male and his. While she tries not to remember the way, they were in the cab on their way to the airport; the shameful excitement rippling through her traitorous body, and suddenly the memory is all too vivid in her mind, that it almost makes her choke.

To begin with, she concentrates on each and every intangible detail of his handsome, deceptively beautiful, ageless, innocent, pale face, where the usually fair freckles around his nose have been brought out by the sun, and his bushy eyebrows lower in nervousness. Noticing the way, the light in the room is drawing on the ginger streaks in his hair. The small things that part of her brain has always labeled as 'Jackson', like how his eyes, seem remarkably still, and to glow forth their extraordinary color almost in the dark, which are anything but cold, dead, and very dangerous to her and their children. Especially when they are in certain lights, they are slightly darker, revealing gentle, shy, and his boyish, open, humorous, warm, and happy eyes. He can never lie to her, those beautiful clear blue emotive eyes that are able to convey a whole load of emotions, without him even having to say, and one of the countless reasons why she fell in love with him, and knows with all the emotions he is showing, he isn't lying. Presently they are gently brooding behind those silly far too long lashes of his, and are cornered by the beginnings of crows' feet, into the very depths of her soul. Immediately Lisa notices that he has slightly dark circles around his eyes, as though he is suffering a little from the lack of sleep. Just like her.

Now her eyes are drawn to the few grey hairs that he knew of, just right behind his ears, and the few strands in his stubble, highlighted by the tinges of red and copper. Remembering when Millie and Emily giggly announced their arrival one night at bedtime, as daddy was blowing raspberries on their bellies, and tickle torturing them, while they threw their arms and legs out. Jackson was laughing and joking around, both his voice and chuckle were in his natural boyishly deep and harmonious tone, which she cannot reject, are without doubt infectious. The giggling overexcited little girls blinking their big green and blue eyes up mischievously, telling them, that daddy is old like grandpas. So he should rewire, (a mispronunciation of retire) like Grandpa Joe, because he will be too old to play with us. The look on his face was priceless; he raised an eyebrow questioningly, while feigning hurt shock and glancing at Lisa, who had a cheeky grin on her face for a short moment. The girls kissed the left side of his cheek delicately as a heartfelt apology, while saying and signing 'We still love you daddy'. Whereas Lisa cautiously leaned over and touched the warm hardness of his cheek gently, while she leaned her head slightly forward, for a moment. The gesture intended to be showing they meant no harm, at the same time as also attempting to enjoy the familiar feeling of his coppery bristly stubble against the skin of her soft fingers, because he didn't shave that day, just like today. It has taken her a long time to get used to touching him again, so tenderly and casually. Remembering how before the assault, she would get pleasure from the captivating, affectionate, and tender sensation of his bristly scruff nuzzled and rasped against the sensitive skin of her cheek, jaw, as well as all over her body, leaving lingering goosebumps flooding the surface of her skin. It seems that now, even though she yearns for the feeling, and the loving gesture; however, it also divides her feelings, in one way she misses the natural enthralling effect it gives her, at the same time as it also frightens and worries her.

That's when her eyes travel to look at his lips, that are at present frozen in a half-open gape, where they linger attentively and inadvertently at those beautiful full, incredibly warm and inviting lips of his, that has given her so many wonderful warm, gentle, affectionate kisses. Lisa stiffens and her heart pounds, as she commits to memory, when he presses his full warm, soft, and moist lips against hers; they definitely feel just as smooth as they look. Being a source of both comfort, and affection, one kiss feels like a devoted promise is being made, while each one is perfectly as exceptional as the last, which would cause a tingling in her stomach. Lisa would match his desire, with her own; she would willingly tilt her head, and let him in for another deep kiss, where she would contentedly close her eyes, pulling him even closer, and letting him enclose her in his sinewy arms, running her small hands up his back, and tangled her fingers gently into his silky luscious thick hair. Remembering how good it felt to receive them, the assault has made her cautious and afraid of the naturally affectionate gesture. Leading her suddenly to when he smiles boyishly, there is always a mischievous glint in his too-clear eyes, exposing the crooked tooth in the front. While up close, the compelling wrinkles that are starting to develop on his cheeks cannot deny the years, and yet his enraptured, eerily ageless handsome face can become somehow magically contradictive to them too, as if they are a secret she only knows. When her eyes travel back to Jackson's still unguarded emotional acutely transparent eyes, and gentle apologetic expression, finding herself coming back to the situation in hand, as her breath catches in her throat, from her deep comforting thoughts, because he's doing that look again, and not only does it distress her, it also makes her incensed, and even more self-conscious.

"What good does sorry do me, Jackson?" She says in a harsh venomous whisper, with the hint of irony lingering in her voice like a veil of thin smoke, and eyes flashing indignantly dangerously. Afterwards she pulls him forcefully to her, their foreheads touching. Before as hard as she can, she shoves him back, against the wall again. Not once, not twice, but three times, ahead of shaking him as severely as she can after that, as if he is a lifeless ragdoll. His eyes are tightly closed, while his face is screwed up into a grimace, which she thinks is a mixture of both pain, and an automatic reaction to the action, as his head is lolling back and forth. She hears a dull thump, as the back of his head collides with the wall repeatedly. He lets out a sonorous guttural cry that resounds in her ears, as well as around the walls of the small room, the sound being almost deafening to her. That's when she lets go of his lapels, and progresses to emphasize the frustration she is feeling, by relentlessly whacking him excruciatingly hard on his right arm with her clenched fists, with an added growl at him. All her anger, aggravation, and helplessness over the past few hours are boiling to the surface as she swiftly punches him as hard she can, fighting the urge to punch him in the nose. While she feels her, knuckles sting, from coming into contact with the abrasive material of Jackson's jacket. Even as the burning hot tears are streaming down her face, as she snarls at him like a pack leader wolf to another wolf trying it's luck in the pack to show dominance, and abruptly stopping so she can wipe the tears from her face, and search his eyes brimming with tears, that are only inches away from her face. Afterwards she grips his lapels again, only tighter this time in her sweaty fists, which are slipping slightly against the material. Pulling him forcefully hard to her for the final time, so their foreheads are touching, and she breathes hard and deeply, very out of breath from the intense physical exertion, in the meantime she can feel the nervous trepidation trickle from his temple down to his nose. She wonders if he was doing this before, and how she didn't notice. A moment of silence ensues. Between them, there is a Silence of disbelief, of bitterness, and irritation. Lisa with clenched teeth and vehemence in her eyes asks Jackson through quietly infuriated and threatening, with a barely perceptible hissing edge to her contemptuous words. "You know sorry doesn't change anything, so why say it."

Looking into those furious deep green eyes, while his body is in well-deserved tremendous pain, contemplating on how he only wants to make her and their little girls feel protected and secure. He just isn't sure how to do that with Lisa, because by the infuriated look on her beautiful features, he has a lot to make up to her. Jackson's voice is soft, as he replies his throat suddenly feeling so thick and dry that his voice came out as a mere croak, while a look of a completely lost in thought little boy escapes on his features; like a guilt-ridden little boy wondering what his punishment will be. With his eyelids drooping and those ridiculously long lashes nearly meshing, top and bottom, while his eyes are in narrow slits, looking at an invisible spot somewhere on the floor. "I know there is no excuse for this, Leese."

* * *

><p>In the meantime, being instinctively inquisitively, little Rebecca eleven going on thirty, leans forward staring at the door, while putting her ear against the door contaminated with peoples germs, where people haven't bothered to wash their hands, and biting her bottom lip anxiously. Unable to make out what was going on in there, exactly she is disturbed from her thoughts, taking a sudden deep intake of breath, as she can hear the loud banging, coming from inside the small room. Her hand is unconsciously poised, ready to knock on the door and declare that she has an emergency.<p>

In the back of the plane, in the galley where there isn't enough room to swing a cat. The older attendant is piling the empty cheap flimsy plastic trays from the small cupboard under the microwave, and listening out for the loud horrendously deafening ding. Standing next to her, grabbing a bundle of soft drinks from the refrigerator, is the junior African American attendant swiftly placing them into the refreshment cart. Both of them with their sight trained on the sounds going on in the lavatory, and the general murmur that is going on outside in the aisle, and keeping a keen ear out for anyone who might enter the room, or need to use the bathroom.

The older flight attendant Janet opens the cupboard above her head, taking out a bundle of wrapped up plastic utensils into her arms, and dumping them on the top of the trolley, with the sounds of clinking, rustling plastic, and finally banging as they hit the metal top. She has always prided herself on being professional and focused, but earlier she noticed that the gentleman sitting beside the upset woman, has joined her in the loo, and since it is obvious they're a couple, both wearing matching wedding bands that are very expensive as well as tasteful and understated. However, they've both been looking pretty stressed out and unhappy, and as though they are having a teary argument-slant-rough-patch happening between the two of them, that from long time experience, she has simply decided to look the other way, so to say. "It sounds like those 2 are finally unwinding, I'm wondering if they are going home to little ones." She says with a mischievous wink and cocks her head to the side, with a smirk to her co-worker of six years. This is while she continues to place utensils onto the awaiting trays, so that they are ready for the cheap airline food.

Julie the younger attendant, straightens from her crouched position, and makes an approving noise and rounds her eyebrows. Immediately, her cheeks flush with the thoughts of what they could be doing, and she has to lean against the counter, to keep perfectly still. Before she says in a soft dreamy voice, being gentility and civility, at the same time as her good nature seeps ineffably through. At least they are getting some time alone, she considers judiciously, and wondering what it is really like having children, and how letting the parents have some undivided attention for each other couldn't hurt, could it?. "When I walked down with that elderly gentleman to his seat, I noticed the husband looking at pictures of their children in his wallet. They have 3 little girls, and they looked like such cute and sweet little things, even as he was looking at them, he had that look of a proud daddy." Suddenly knitting her brow in concentration, her face becoming absolutely still for a moment, as her eye are despondent as she is staring at a small spot of dirt on the metal sides of her trolley. Because the more she thinks about it, she becomes more sympathetic to their feelings and predicament. She has an honest look of sympathy and fear, as she sympathetically continues, her voice still dreamy, but her usually happy bright eyes are now looking up at her colleague. "Then when I assisted them, the wife was terribly upset, and he mentioned that there was a death in the family."

Watching her friends engrossed expression on her face absorbedly, her hands automatically sorting the trays, Janet reciprocates to her colleague, a pitying look, she replies in a tone full with commiseration. She has had a feeling about 'those two' long before this, despite their façade of a couple flirting, there seemed to be an underlining sadness between the two. "Poor things, a death in the family, no wonder they looked so look so stressed out." Then with a humorous thought in her head, she laughs to herself a bit, as she reminds herself what it is like having young children, with her 3 boys, and trying to keep a possible positive relationship between the couple. Thankful that they are now rebellious teens, and are mostly at their friend's house, so she and her husband have more time to play. "Plus having 3 little girls are at home, that doesn't leave much time to you know, there's no time for fun, at least they're not trying to hide under a blanket and fool around. I can't count how many times I've had to reprimand young couples, doing it that way."

Watching as Julie's face brightens, and her smile has come back to the surface. As she now grabs more soft drinks into her hands, and places them on the top of her trolley. She knows that she is still listening out for passengers, the couple in the bathroom, and the conversation in hand. Her mind goes into another tirade, as she recognizes in these sorts of situations, she would usually find the guy reaching into the overhead bin above their seats, and pulling out two blue airline blankets for themselves. Then he would sit back down in his seat, draping one blanket over himself, and one over her, making sure to overlap them. She would watch them trying to be inconspicuous when his hand would begin to slide under the blankets, his hand brushing the woman's knee, and then very slowly slide up her thigh. Typically, the women cheeks lit a bright red, let out a soft moan. Her eyes begin to water from having to stifle herself. The man's face always tried to look incredibly composed, further pissing her off, as he would glance around the airplane as if nothing was happening with bemusement in his eyes. As if, his hand was somehow detached from the rest of him. How could he even think that would work? However, knowing both of them are trying to keep what was happening from everyone around them, that is always tricky. Making her have very little respect for their wants and needs, she had found a way to keep an icy façade.

Shaking her numb hands from the coldness of the cans of drink, Julie looks up at Janet and says as she chuckles, her large soulfully brown eyes now sparkling with a large measure amusement. She knows Janet prides herself on her professionalism, and is generally disapproving of the over familiarity. "I'm surprised you didn't reprimand them."

Janet answers her, with a hint of smile still lingering on her face, a quirked eyebrow, as she shrugs at her fellow colleague, who is still smiling amusingly. "Well I don't always have a heart of stone you know. A little bit of "fun" could be just what those two need. It might help them to unwind." Then suddenly she leans forward, placing her hands on either side of the edge of the trolley. As though she is about to tell her a secret, naturally Julie does the same, leaning in close to Janet. She whispers quietly, as though the occupants in the bathroom can hear, and adds with a been-there, done-that wink, while smiling mischievously. "And you know the best part about them having those sweet little girls? They're not on this flight." Knowing from years of experience, that small children and air travel don't always mix.

* * *

><p>As she continues hearing the muffled voices from outside the door, Lisa raises an eyebrow, looking at him very directly, and she can't help but feel a malevolent contentment spread within her, as she commands in a mere a low and barely above a whisper, in a voice that doesn't even sound like her. It is so powerful, that it resonates throughout the bathroom. "Not a word, don't even think of moving."<p>

He is merely looking straight into her eyes, with raw honesty, and penetrating numbly, not being able to argue with that look, and appearing to be stunned. While shifting uncomfortably, with the feeling of his guts flooding and burning hot as though his chest has just set it's self on fire. As his expression is quietly sheepish, and genuinely abashed as if to say 'You have me, I'm not going anywhere Leese?' He has never felt so uncomfortable around his wife, as he does right now, fully aware that he is about to further shatter the delicate house of cards they have constructed for themselves.

* * *

><p>Looking a little nervous, and green around the gills, seventeen-year old Drake drums his stick pen against the thick pad he was working on, which makes a hollow rattling sound in its wake. Said pen bares the many marks of his teeth where he has chewed in concentration and nervousness, with a grotesque molded plastic character topping it; it looks as though it has come from a kiddy magazine. Abruptly stopping in mid cadence, he lets the pen slide from his fingers, to drop down on top of his pad where he has been drawing, and shifts awkwardly and uncomfortably in his seat. "Man, I need to pee so bad dude." The agitated boy says disapprovingly, as he is whacking his sleeping friend particularly hard on the arm.<p>

Causing a barely conscious, Carl starts to mumble incoherently, before opening his eyes, and lifting his heavy head from his numb feeling arms. With his mind clouded with sleep, he takes a dreamy fuzzy gaze around the somewhat dark and eerily quiet cabin blankly, subsequently blinking a few times, while rubbing his hands over his face, to get the sleep from his eyes and to help him focus his vision. "What did you say dude?" He asks to his friend, as he tries to come back to realty, moving himself in his seat so to get comfortable in the already uncomfortable harder than nails seat, even as his voice is thick and husky with the last remains of sleep.

Incredibly unimpressed with his friend's reaction, Drake just stares at his friend as though he cannot believe he didn't hear him the first time. "I need to use the can." He informs Carl for the second time, between clenched teeth, with a slight scowl as his eyes stare sharp daggers into his friend.

The penetrating burning sensation Drake is indeed sending him; Carl looks at his friend with a sheepish smile, and can feel the sensation burn a hole inside him. "Well, why don't you just go then?" He retorts impatiently, as he turns his head, and looks away from the obviously infuriated boy next to him to the front of the plane and a view of the sea of blue whiplash causing headrests, knowing how much Drake hates plane flights. Looking away from Drake, Carl lets out a great meaningful sigh as he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes again. However, he knows that Drake must've been pretty stoked about the whole trip, though, seeing as the whole reason they were going to Miami is to see his older brother, and stay for a couple of weeks before school starts.

Huffing and throwing his arms in exasperation like a 5-year-old child, who doesn't have its own way. Drake with his headphones still attached to his ears, let's his hands grip his armrests, using them to help pull his anesthetized feeling body up slowly, while his bottom now feels like deadweight from sitting in that butt-buster, that the airline laughingly likes to call a seat. He glances around the area for a moment while he stretches all the nervous tension out of his limbs, and notices the still empty seats 3 rows in front of him; he remembers how he saw the attractive pale woman with beautiful light caramel-brown hair, went upset for some reason. Suddenly 10 minutes later, he saw the guy who was standing in the aisle, with those brilliant light startling blue eyes that seemed to look right into your soul, follow her down the aisle, looking frightening and threatening at the same time. A part of his mind that isn't screaming GO, remembering that he noticed how this seat gives him the perfect view of him, and the woman's seat next to him. That's when it occurs to him, the woman hasn't come out of the bathroom yet, and neither has the man.

Mildly sulking, casting his brooding eyes to the tail of the plane, and stalks his way to the restroom. He wants to stretch his cramped up legs a bit, and straightening out his faded Nirvana t-shirt. He's walking in the middle of the faded carpeted aisle, pitying any poor bastard who tries to pass him, because he isn't moving out of their way. Right then, the lights in the plan flickers, the deafening rumble of thunder is heard, and the plane shakes as if it is in a mid-air earthquake, along with loud frightened gasps from fellow passengers. That makes him practically run speedily to the bathroom, as fast as he can. His eyes glance over to the closest window, above the heads of a couple of passengers, looking out, and inhale deeply, wishing he were outside breathing the fresh air.

Upon reaching the blonde girl, he forces a weak smile that discloses his urgency with puppy dog eyes, and points to the door- asking permission to go ahead of her. The girl stares up at him silently; hesitating for a few moments... but then gave a few, unsure nods. He nods back as a thank you, and stepped ahead of her, infront of the door, waiting for the couple sitting in front of them to step out, but only hearing faint banging noises, coupled with harsh breathing. Impatiently Drake turns on his heels, and walks a few steps to the galley, where sourpuss and the kind attendant are crashing and banging. He reaches out, tapping the younger attendant lightly on the side of her arm as she is working. "Uh...excuse me, Miss...uh.. Did you know there's a guy in the toilet, with a woman?" He asks in an accusation enquiring voice, as his dark eyes widen, while his brows drop as well, which makes him look and sound more like his a teenager whining.

At that point, in an automatic reaction, Janet turns her head to the side to glimpse at Julie who is still busy filling and organizing the drinks trolley, and then whips her head to glare at the young man, who has just arrived in the tail end of the plane. Janet eyes quickly moves slightly to look at the row of seats to see the empty seat of 18G and 18F. She shakes her head, now moving her glance around the cabin, before she brings her gaze back to Julie. Having moved to collect a different selection of drinks for passengers, Julie and Janet share a sly amusing, and mischievous smile at the boy's expense, before Julie steps around her trolley to open another cupboard. Meanwhile Janet taking her time to answer him, runs a hand down her vest, to smooth out any wrinkles she may have, afterwards she brings her head up to the now exasperated boy, with a polite smile plastered to her face. "Excuse me?" She asks absent-mindedly sounding amenable, and allowing for a large measure of fake empathy to infiltrate into her tone.

That makes Julie look outside to see if anybody else is waiting or can hear, her eyes spot Rebecca still standing against the partition wall waiting for the room to become vacant, while also being seemingly nosy. Probably wandering what those banging noises are, and making naive and innocent assumptions. She uses it as her cue to leave the upcoming commotion, on the lavatory dispute. Promptly she squeezes her tiny self past the narrow valley between the 2 metal trolleys, without banging into it, and causing the sound of a dull drum to resound around the cabin drawing even more attention.

* * *

><p>Behind whom Paul Wilson listening intently to the furious accusations, he has been sitting calmly next to the old woman, her attention absorbed with the latest offerings from Dr. Phil, for the entire flight. An older gentleman, fiftyish, wearing casual attire, a red Ralph Lauren polo with a pair of dark wash jeans, tying to look like a typical holidaymaker. Although his eyes seem to have a hint of shiftiness in them, and from a face that is at least two sizes smaller than the one his weather-beaten one, with long wiry bushy eyebrows that stick out in different directions. Wrinkles around his somewhat menacing dark eyes, and forehead as though frowning is the only facial expression he has ever made. With a small patch of fuzz on his receding and balding head, that looks like the bristles of a rusted-red toilet brush that belongs in a survival horror game. Now, while his eyes are gazing around the restless and somewhat anxious cabin, with turbulence rocking the plane and teenage frustrations running high in the stupid kids around him has come to nickname as headphone guy, he finds himself wondering what Rippner is up to...<p>

'Is this a distraction?' The floored operative, who has permanently been on top of his game cannot decide, he certainly doesn't think Rippner is one who needed one right now, he thought; he was relentlessly the consummate professional at work. Because the outcome of this job will have far-reaching effects for him, political affairs, and the American public, the very idea makes him tingle with shameless self-importance. He will do what he has to do, to get the job done and then move on, as always; he will be, richer for it, financially speaking, and another step closer to being morally bankrupt, and maybe he will be given the job he was promised. No more field assignments for him, he'll be just sitting behind a nice large desk, bossing others, and getting a great paycheck for it too, as well as other special benefits leading up to his retirement.

'Morality,' the unscrupulous agent scoffs, catching himself before he grins wickedly, staring at the mottled fabric of the headrest in front of him, while carefully listening to the conversation between the boy, and the hardnosed flight attendant. He chances a quick askance look back at the bathroom where Rippner and his beloved Lisa, who is the most dull-witted victim he has ever seen in his 30 years serving the government. In the meantime, he flicks his inquiring eyes, to the seats 5 rows in front of him, only to see a blue-sleeved arm raise, and then an elbow rest its self on the hard armrest. In the surreal quietness, only the rumble of engines, he finds himself knowing she should be making the call right now, which will secure their little spoiled brats and her old man lives. Once Lisa called in the switch, he will call his partners who are lurking outside their place, and speaking in code, give him permission to proceed to kill her father and their little brats anyway.

However, no, because it's his wife, he is being accommodating to her needs, he just hopes Rippner is in there now, pounding and choking the sense into her. Alternatively, maybe his treating her to the Mile High Club, hoping this will persuade her into calling her goddamn hotel. 'Good,' he thinks, 'the less she resists, the better their advantage will be...' On the other hand, the dominant all-business combine of his mind reprimands himself, he should be doing something about it, however he is instead more preoccupied with how he should be completely making an effort to get Rippner to do the task at hand. It reminds him of the fact, that they're not working in a vacuum here, Rippner and that darling wife of his, might be intentionally calling attention to themselves, but he, and his fellow agents run the risk, should they try anything aboard the plane, of also calling unintentional attention to themselves as well...

He is the first-class professional, and he will never let himself forget that. Unfortunately, he is sitting next to this cubby, yappy old woman, Lisa the tear stained, and pitiful pawn, gave the self-help book to, which is now being held in her chubby hands, while she's reading. At the same time as he contemplates over, all the credit he is owed to his expertise and pluck by Rippner, which he knows is going to make this work. What, if any, help does the hotel manager need when she is living the American dream, has gained from reading those insipid Dr. Phil books, with all his pearls of wisdom? However, judging from what he can tell already about her, and from her personal interactions, is that Lisa Ripper is a heartbreaking commentary on the fulfilled working woman, wife, and mother scale. More than likely, she'd given the old woman the self assessing book, because she doesn't want to face up to the fact that, she has been rooked most of her life. He laughs as his eyes skim over the page the old woman has been reading, seeing there is something Dr. Phil and himself agree on, doubting he will find much more. Mollycoddling was, and to quote the good doctor, 'just plain dumb. Rippner through his actions over the years has been mollycoddling his wife, and children. Several notations raises his brow a time or two; especially this one, wondering do people really take most of this psyche-prattle seriously? You get what you want in this ass-backwards world by being ruthless, blitz first, with all the force of a category five hurricane, leaving wreckage behind, and never leave a trace of yourself. He has no problem sleeping at night-ever. He rarely takes prescribed sleeping pills, and thinks that warm milk is for wimps and small children. The death of Lisa's grandmother couldn't have been better timed if they'd planned it themselves.

That's when he hears the dulcet, indulgent voice, wreaking havoc with his concentration. The minute he hears a wisp of her words, as she is speaking to someone he is all ears. He sees her attractive, somewhat baby face, and petiteness; 'Pixie' is definitely a word he would use to describe her. "Do you have any idea what's going on in the bathroom?" Pretending to be an inquisitive passenger who looks a little green around the gills, so to speak, asks in an exasperated voice purposely, all the while looking deceptively charitable. His mind thinking 'That's right, you're paid to serve me..., and I want your attention.' Trusting in the power of his intonation that is always a sure fire, in inducing people to do what he wants them to do, or know, without batting an eye. He directs her with a smile that is slyly drenched in fascination, which could be registered with the police.

The old women's head peeks up from her beloved guru's book, where she has been enveloped in his psychobabble for the last few hours, placing it on her lap, in interest of the conversation-taking place. She has a look of concern on her wrinkly old face, and a sad smile gracing her lips, while one hand is holding the book down, as slowly begins to rise.

"I'm sure it's just somebody who is feeling a little unwell, and flying doesn't agree with them.' Pixie' genteelly assures them quietly, allowing for a large measure of empathy to infiltrate into her tone without giving it a wit of thought, as though obeying some cue she has internalized, graciously responds. She graciously returns his smile, as though she owes it to him, as if he is a creditor who demands immediate payment.

The old woman then smiles again, with one of sympathy for the poor passenger inside the mod con. As she nods in agreement one final time, before carefully picking up the book, and homing herself back into the page she was reading last.

"Oh I see, thank you for your help." Making sure, he allows for a large measure of sympathy to sound in his voice, while he tries to let his old boyish charisma his has perfected to ooze from every pore and splash over everything within hailing range. Then he looks to the young girl, with her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, standing beside her, with a frown, and accusations in her features as though something wasn't right.

"No problem sir." The younger attendant says genteelly and civility, all wrapped up in one very shapely, bantam package, in an assuring tone. In the next breath, not missing a beat, she inquires letting her good nature seep ineffably through her tone, wide dark eyes, and the polite always happy to help smile. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Meanwhile the girl stares at the man silently, hesitating and seemingly surprised for a few moments when he glares back at her. Patiently, Julie ushers the very curious Rebecca now smiling sweetly at the scarily imposing older man, before she goes back to scowling at him when she think Julie isn't watching her, taking by the shoulders, leading her back to her seat, and deciding not to mention what she may have seen. "Let's get you to the bathroom nearer to your seat."

"There's something strange going on?" Rebecca says in a quiet concerned voice, as she pauses and looks back over her shoulder with a concerned frown. For a second, - thinking that Julie would have noticed and will have the same feeling about it. Then as she though Julie is going to answer her, instead she suddenly feels Julie nudge the back of her cardigan slightly, she gets the message, and dramatically huffs in frustration before they continue on, up the narrow aisle to their destination.

* * *

><p>Deliberately taking her sweet own time, answering the now flabbergasted boy who is in shock, with his mouth and his brown eyes wide open. While Janet makes a show of moving her trolley out of the way, at the same time as she counts quietly to herself to twenty, suddenly as though she remembered something and stopping her movements with the trolley, before she opens her mouth. Really dragging her answer out, like a baiter, hoping to tempt him, she expresses him with indifference and bewilderment in her tone, while her facial expression is as though she is extremely bored. "I really didn't notice anything; I've been far too busy." She even goes as far as adding a theatrical exhausted sigh, for effect.<p>

This makes an utterly shocked, bewildered, and offended Drake think 'What does she take him as, a fool?' He returns her stare with a disapproving expression. Leaving him wondering, 'Why in the hell is she, avoiding his question?' "Isn't it your job to notice things like that?" He asks in a temperamental tone, his face a picture of a 2-year-old ready to throw a strop a moment's notice.

Trying her hardest not to laugh, Janet wonders how delusional he is; she knows she is more than a match for him, and he'd better get that into his stubborn head. All docility coupled with cordiality and a faint trace of amusement, pretending to accord him the respect she imagines he deserves right now. "Well, the other one appears to be free." Janet looks to the boy with a smug expression on her face, waiting to see if he knew an explanation.

Rapidly blinking, as though dazed by her question, oriented himself to her more, Drake's eyes radiating with impatience, narrows. He gasps loudly in demoralization. Just staring back into her smug looking face for a brief moment, and not having a witty retort to throw at her for that remark, a considerably defeated Drake stuffing his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans, slowly turns on his sneakered heels, and slowly walks down the aisle to go sit back in his seat.

"Enjoy the rest of your flight, sir." Janet the Senior Flight Attendant says a sweet, standard, and very snarkily, while smirking at the back of the little cretin walking away. Because Drake is too busy walking in a sulking child way back to his seat, and because his back is turned to her, and all she can see is the backs of the other passengers- he fails to see the sarcastic look on Janet's smirking face, and hear the little amused laugh. While she's thinking to herself sarcastically, like she has on many occasions when she's seen that sort of ridiculous, unimpressive, melodramatic display from her own teenage boys. Oh, poor baby...! As she turns back, and turns her attention, to deal with another package of nuked food that looks ready to combust at any moment.

Hearing heavy-footed footsteps' coming down the aisle, Carl leans over his seatmate's seat, and armrest, to look over Drake's seat. Where he sees the unmistakable brown curls, faded tee of Drake coming his way, his usual calm face is now showing an overwhelming look of bewilderment and anger, then seeing in the background the haughty flight attendant. "What's wrong dude?" He asks with a frown on his face, and in a concerned tone, trying his hardest to be a good friend, and not to laugh at his friends face.

As soon as an irritable Drake finally approaches his seat, trying to slide himself between the small space of the flip down table and the seat. Remarkably squeezing through the small space, he huffs extravagantly as he practically collapses into his uncomfortable seat, the when Carl decides to explode into laughter. While his companion ignoring him sigh loudly, as though the whole world is on his shoulders, and in a resentful, inquisitive tone of voice asks him. "Why is it always the hot guys that get the hot girl?"

Carl turns to look at his best friend of 16 years, staring at the headrest in front of him, with his eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pursed. Knowing from experience that they have never really had that much luck with the ladies, and sometimes Drake got a little jealous of the jocks taking the women he wants. To those girls, they were just nerdy freaks who get off their heads on weed, and know every character from every series of Star Trek, while getting their kicks from computer games, and conventions. "Because that's life dude, the hot guy, always gets the girl?" In a sympathetic voice, and adding a little laugh to make it seem lighthearted, he answers the question.

Listening to the pair of boys, Paul Wilson's partner in crime fights arduously and quietly to suppress his building frustration from exploding. As they start talking about how they have to sit here with cramp and miniature bottles of alcohol, while the Mr. hot guy with the scary eyes, and the hot lady with the nice shiny get their rocks off in the bathroom. Ronald Christianson is a tall handsome man wearing a crisp, black button down shirt, the sleeve cuffs rolled up, with a white undershirt underneath, and a pair of dirty blue slouch jeans. He has warm brown eyes, carefully trimmed, and styled dirty-blond hair, and a thick with gym-muscle muscular frame.

It was much better than listening to his seatmate, a grandmother who wouldn't stop talking about her favourite son, and their 5 children living off mommy and daddies money. She even went as far as to show him pictures that look as though she does the whole show and tell of the brood a lot, all of them perfect looking, never having to work a day in their lives. Turning his head slightly to look at her, and with a smirk on is handsome face, he is thankful the old bat decided to do something useful, that he has been considering her to which is shut up, and going to sleep. Her face pressed up against the cold window, her breathe causing condensation to form, while on the side of her mouth she drools like a baby. He wonders, as he knits his long fingers and warm palms pressing them together in thought, if the happy smiling members of the family, are truly as happy as they seem in the picture, or are there more sinister and dark secrets that they will never expose to her.

Gulping deliberately, and with a nonchalance that has been perfected with years of assignments, Ronald cranes his head around, his eyes like a predator's, are trained on the flight attendants on their mundane duties, who have made such a substantial impression. While taking quick glances, and flicking of eyelids at his partner in crime Paul, sitting at the back of the plane, also being tortured mentally by an older woman, only not verbally, trying to gain his attention with casual inconspicuous glances, and clever waves of the hand. Listening, waiting, he anticipates as the two dopey boys say something more, about how they will never be able to be like their older brothers, and get the girls in their suave manner.

He can listen to them for hours going on about what is going on in that bathroom; he analyses, and determines that after Lisa and Jack came out of the bathroom, that is when the mind games are going to continue increasing, he is going to watch eagerly as Jack gets his wife to make the call. Because he wants to be just like the renowned Jack Rippner, hearing so many famous stories about how the guy was able to complete assignments quickly, and efficiently killing the right person with just a knife, his cold and icy eyes, cunning, Male-driven, fact-based logic, manipulation, and skill. He has even memorized his professional portfolio and background they were given, for personal information to use against him, as well as to understand the talented man they are dealing with. In Brown University, doing Psychology, history, and business, in the army at 19, after his mother's tragic death from a brain tumor, by 21 served in the Afghan war with the U.S. 87th Infantry Regiment as part of Operation Enduring Freedom. Then shortly after mid-2002, and praised by the President, he was spotted for potential by the CIA, working and training in communications and surveillance with his now father in law Joseph Reisert, then working his way up on to important top-secret assignments. Only to get married to that boring doormat 6 years later, impregnating her, and leaving the CIA to join Hendon's company. Where he has been facilitating with his expert team, organizing covert assignments for and with other agencies, even assisting the CIA, and the others involved on their covert mission to kill or capture Osama Bin Laden from his secret hiding place.

Yet the guy is married to a woman who hates violence, pulled down with the burden and responsibility of being a father to small obnoxious children, a nice big family home near Lisa's daddy for the whole goddamn brood, 401K, BBQ's with the family and neighbours, PTA meetings, and the white picket fence. When he is the perfect killing machine, with plenty of resources, connections, and gone so much further in his career. Maybe even being selected to organize this assignment, get a top class promotion, enjoying the fame, no peers on your back, top status, and beautiful women that comes with it, while getting a bucket full of money in the 7-digit variety for the effort. Which would mean he could remain emotionless, professional, and sly during this, Lisa would just be another porn to him, a victim he could manipulate into submission, who he would probably have sex with, in that tiny bathroom, before he disposes of her and daddy dearest, because of their knowledge of the assignment, and then move on to better things.

The plane lurches harshly into another pocket of turbulence, and thrusts Ronald forward and nearly into the headrest in front, interrupting him from his analyzing thoughts of Jack. Meanwhile, he can hear that the chronic complainer by the left side of him, turning his head to see that he has now shut up, and is squeezing his eyes shut tightly, while his more chilled out companion just laughs at his pathetic expression. Glancing around the cabin, It is evident that it is also causing the other passengers around him that were quietly relaxing into the flight from the last bout of uncomfortable jolts, to gasp and moan loudly as they are also jerked forcefully from their seats. Above Ronald's head, he notices the captain has turned on the FASTEN SEATBELT sign, lit up in that nauseating sickly yellow as a warning. A moment later, redundantly, the older flight attendant is informing passengers, her tone over the buzzing static interference on intercom is patiently, wearily sarcastic, ordering people to take their seats. Ronald settles back into his chair, smiling to himself with grim satisfaction, while his dark eyes are wide and glowing with zealous anticipation. Finally, Rippner and that little despicable wife of his will have to leave their little temporary refuge, and face reality once more. Good. Ronald thinks to himself, he always prefers to have his prey where he can see them...

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note:<strong> I would also like to thank 2 little monsters that were hyped up on chocolate, and when they saw a picture of Cillian with a beard for Misterman. They decided because of the grey hairs, that he is old, and needs to rewire (retire) like their granddad, and he will be too old to play with his children.


	10. Chapter 10

**Authors Note:** I would like to thank JK, browser47, CloverX11, Jomac, and Kaywee for their reviews and alerts; I am honestly always happy, appreciative, as well as astounded when I see them in my inbox, and know people are enjoying the story, constructive criticism, or have helpful tips. As well as a constant thank you to Punctuator, for all her help writing this chapter, as well as the lovely time we had watching the brilliant play Misterman at the National. I would like to dedicate this chapter to Punctuator, for being a great friend, for making the 5 days fun, and I hope she had just as much fun too.

Sorry for the long wait with this chapter, I had lots of research to do, along with a copious amount of writers block, plenty of plotting going on, while trying to work out how to accomplish this, and with a bit of luck the chapter came out okay. I hope this story isn't too boring, and if it is I am sorry, I am just trying to be respectful to the situations in this story. I'm trying to capture the atmosphere of the environment to give you a real sensation as though you are really there with them, as well as trying to make Lisa and Jackson's relationship realistic as a married couple, with their situations. As always, reviews, advise, constructive criticism, and comments are very welcomed, and very encouraging. Thank you!

**Warning this chapter is quite long, and contains swearing. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

After they have heard the derisive domineering tone of the older flight attendant, as she was speaking into the crackling interference afflicting the speaker of the intercom, instructing passengers to takes their seats because of the captains earlier warming regarding the weather over the loudspeaker. While both of them were trying to keep themselves, steady and supported through the deafening, paralyzing, and ear-splitting along with the sound of thunder and the intense pounding rain hitting metal as though there are bullets are being fired into metal, and makes it seem as if the plane is going to fall apart any minute. To say it is simply raining would be the understatement of the year; instead, they would describe it more as if the world has been turned upside down and the oceans are falling from the sky. On the other hand, Lisa remembering what her father told her, and her brother when they were little, and now the girls, that it's raining cats, and dogs, elephants, hippos, giraffes, and grizzly bears. All the while the copious reverberations like the whining, rattling, shaking, thrumming, bouncing, buzzing, and chattering caused by the commotion and mayhem of the turbulence, equipment, permanent fixtures, and the metal components of the plane accommodating the pressure and force being applied sing in perfect harmony with each other. Both of them are wondering what the atmosphere is like outside, whether it's the same as in there tense, hot, intense, dread, certainly awkward and distressing, as well conspicuous. It makes them speculate to some extent if any of the other passengers have noticed their absence, through the harsh uncomfortable disconcerting, lurches, jerks, thumps, and thrusts of the pockets of turbulence, which seems to be becoming more of a regular occurrence. To make things worse, they are also sitting in those awful uncomfortable seats being thrusted into seat in front, along with the horrendous deafening noises from the sudden unexpected accelerations, every time the plane bounces around trying to find some clean air. Nevertheless, they hope most of all that it is distracting the enemy agents from their game, and causing them some discomfort as well as reconsider their strategy and positions, although not too much, just enough to make things a little easier for them, and a lot harder for the agents.

In the meantime exhausted and emotionally drained, standing close to Jackson, Lisa's forehead lies cushioned gently against Jackson's jacket covered chest, the fabric rubbing abrasively against her sweat-covered forehead. While her eyes are closed tightly, shut as small stinging tears roll greasy tracks down her reddened cheeks, knowing her natural looking makeup is smeared with dried tears. Relieved that her headache has at present turned to a numb dull ache, and has found a comfortable place for itself, currently with immense effort, she is somehow able to forget its existence for a moment, as it was revived with the earlier din. Her exasperated flared nostrils are breathing in the smell of freshly cleaned cotton with the refreshing smell of fabric softener, light perspiration blending with his scent and personification, united with the odor of fabric that has been recently dry-cleaned, listening to the air filling in his lungs as he breathes. Her small hands are still wrapped tightly around the uneven fabric of his lapels, while her fists are curled, at the same time as her small sharp nails still digging into the fibers of the fabric, and she can feel the loose pieces of fluff and manmade fibers, as well as dried sweat accumulate under her finger nails. However, she considers the consequences sensibly, and knows that in the end it is all worth it.

Because Lisa feels, she is doing an excellent job of focusing her anger, needing to lean on Jackson and trying to stop herself from trembling against him, the same way he is kind of leaning on her too, just sort of holding each other up in a caring manner, calming themselves, and catching their breath. Conscious that as infuriated and wound up as she is with him right now, a small part of her recognizes and is fully aware that she needs his comfort, strength, encouragement, and assurance as much as he needs hers to draw upon, even if right now she doesn't want to. Because there is, definitely no way, she's collapsing any time soon, those floors are REVOLTING with new strains of germs and superbugs like MRSA or a new type of SARS that are unidentified to the scientific world, and she would have to be autoclaved afterward, before being experimented on. Using her full body weight, she lets her knuckles dig into his small sinewy chest, restraining him from making any kind of move, so that his back is leaning dead flat against the cold metal wall, hoping that this is still causing some effect on him. However, it causes her already physically exhausted, numbed, and overly worried mind to worry and become even more confused regarding the situation they are in, and her feelings towards her husband. Fighting the overwhelming urge to commit grievously bodily harm on her husband, whilst wishing that he kept the tie he was wearing at the funeral, consequently, she can put it to good use, and choke him to death; therefore, she can plant some common sense into the rather big thick egotistical skull of his.

Meanwhile he is in a state of bewilderment, as without saying anything, he cautiously but gently has the strong and square dexterous fingers of his right hand curl around some of the thick luscious but damp and sticky tangled strands of curls shimmering red in the warm harsh glare of the florescent light. They are tickling his nose lightly and pleasingly, as he breathes in the flowery fragrance of her shampoo that is also causing his nose to itch in the midst of her hair. He breathes with her, and hears her breathe with him. He feels her, he senses her with every fiber of his being feeling momentarily lightheaded. While her warm breath tickles the warm skin of his chest as well as her body heat, even through his shirt, undershirt, and his jacket, which coincidently both feel as though they are exceptionally and uncomfortably sticky against his already moist skin. He can feel as it clings to every muscle and curve on his slender body, giving him the same reaction he had in the cab when she was lightly touching him with her fingers. In addition to being thin now, excessively too thin at the moment, that he can also feel it on the sensitive skin of his chest, and causing him to become familiar with that level of intimacy again reawakening sensations long forgotten. Even as he acknowledges it, all he wants is for her to be relaxed against him; he uses the palm of his left hand, to rub her back rhythmically up and down softly, feeling how the soft, smooth, and downy material of her woolen cardigan feels under his fingertips.

He can feel the warmth of her skin, the sort of fineness and thinness beneath his fingers, with the shift and give of her living body, making his chest ache with the sudden and unpleasant sadness of regret. In terms of comfort, of tenderness, he is in addition swaying them both slightly on their feet; it is as if, he is soothing a small fitful child back to sleep. His lips are close to her right ear, letting his soft lips and his left cheekbone brush against the strands as they dance elegantly across her hair, his warm breathe tickling the small delicate fluffy hairs of her sensitive inner ear, which naturally makes her shoulder rise and knows is from the tickling tingling sensation she is experiencing . As well as the evidence of the morning beard that is growing on his face, rubbing lightly against the light blonde ones on the soft and sensitive skin of her cheek, causing the same the reaction, only she is slightly turning her head away. He is whispering his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, to her with encouraging compassionate words in a soothingly eerily hypnotic tone like a man telling his lover a secret, it's so delicately quiet it could be the wind outside, as well as part of the rumbling from the engines. That in another situation he knows would calm her usually this would include him massaging slow circular motions at her neck with his thumb, while bringing her troubled worried perturbed mind to some ease, while trying his hardest to send her into a relaxed state until she was able to sleep.

Whereas his watchful eyes; automatically start monitoring the shadows all around them, his attention shifts and suddenly he catches a reflection of himself in the mirror through his blurry tear filled blue eyes, that's when he sees his distressingly heartrending expression in the mirror, unexpectedly making him realize why his wife has been even more upset around him. He frowns uncomfortably at the tears swiftly stinging his eyes**, **and dangerously threatening to spill over; unfortunately, he isn't succeeding very well in hiding them, and has to drag his eyes away from the unmistakable reflection of himself staring forwards on the ground below at an imaginary point of interest, of the disgusting sticky plastic easy to clean floor. Knowing that it was the same 3 years ago, he too witnessed that upsetting, stressed, guilt-ridden, and worried expression from the very same face he is looking at and it too has perturbed him as much as it did Lisa.

The desperate, fatigued, and despairing feeling that he needs to lean on Lisa, wanting to nestle his face against her neck, is now somewhat overwhelming, the thought of just sort of holding each other up like this, for calming themselves down quietly, while also catching their breaths, seems to give him a small sense of hopefulness, advantage, and confidence. As well as providing a chance for a few moments to recuperate and reorganize his thoughts, along with seeking comfort and strength with his number-one resource and source of force and possibility, right here held in his arms. In spite of everything, and keeping himself together, Jackson knows he isn't being weak or unmanly by crying, or being overly sentimental, because he's afraid and yes, he has teared up. On the contrary, he knows a real man is a man who's not afraid to acknowledge that he HAS feelings, someone who doesn't is not only completely and utterly unrealistic and impracticable, as well as lifelessly insensitive, and to all intents and purposes no good in this situation, for the reason that otherwise he'd end up in an insane asylum. Bottling it up is NOT the way to go, and he knows that, Lisa needs to know he is as frightened and infuriated as she is, needs to know he cares for his young family at home, and that she isn't alone in this, as well as that he desires the same things. Hell, even John Wayne cried in his movies, being a rough, tough, and ready cowboy...! Nevertheless he can confidently say, a real man knows that bottling up feelings is not only a waste of energy, but that it can actually distract him- and make him more apt to snap or break down later on, in front of or at his little girls and Lisa, or the enemy whereby it causes a risky mistake. True strength lies in being able to sway a bit, to bend with the demands of a situation. He is going to, have his good cry now, and will help Lisa through her good, angry anxious frustrated cry, too; then, later, he'll have the wherewithal and strength to bring holy hell down on the heads of the guys who are threatening his precious family.

He is using this time of contemplation to keep him prepared, still delicately playing with the ends, as he lightly twirls a strand of curl around his index finger, and lets the soft strands brush lightly between his fingers. Because he soon has a practical laying-out of plans to discuss, while enlightening her with the metaphorical memo that he so rudely forgot to forward to her before this whole mess began, and he is frightened of the severe and well-deserved repercussions his wife might implement on him, an almighty galaxy of Lisa-provided pain down on his own head.

A moment passes in thick penetrating amenable silence, as he collects himself, he suddenly feels Lisa move her head, her hair making muffled squeaking and scratching noises against the material of his wet and sticky tear stained shirt, as she moves slowly away from his warm chest to look up at him. Suddenly in the midst of the quietness and the muggy temperature in the small room, he can hear Lisa clear her throat, before she inhales deeply clearing her clogged up nose, and takes a large breath out, letting the air and some of the contents blow against his shirted chest. The abandoned absents making it ache as well as feel cold and missing her solidity, even though there is body heat between their closeness. Pausing for another moment, his bleary eyes following each tiny movement she makes, and taking in every detail, watching her intently, as she lets her defiant expression, with disconcerted perplexed, and burning with anger, at the same time as she lets her vigorously bright green eyes shining and bloodshot, meet his own remorseful glassy light blue eyes. From what he can see, she is trying to assess his feelings and his focus as if she is evaluating his reality and sincerity.

With his arms carefully dropping to his sides of his slim hips, Jackson contemplates for a moment on his next course of action, slowly reaching out to Lisa's face; her chin quivering as she blinks back the fresh tears that were threatening to spill over her lids. Meanwhile lifting his arms, and stretching them to touch her, only due to uncertainty and weariness, he leaves his hands to hover in the air for a moment, before tenderly and thoughtfully he runs his clammy trembling hands through her damp hair, and over the back of her head, letting them slide down the waterfall of curls. They delicately follow the path around the curvature of her soft neck, and continue on their path along underneath her jaw to the front of her face. Immediately after that, he lets the relatively coarse tips of his fingers run along the lines of her soft jaw, to the end of her chin, using his thumb to gently tipping her head back. Where he then effortlessly cups her face in his hands feeling the warmth of her cheeks under his hands, and in a soothingly calm amorous gentle manner, forces her to pay attention to him, with her beautiful and dazzling tear filled green eyes, while also fighting the urge to place a light gentle kiss the tip of her reddened nose. At the same time as he watches her, as he marvels at the balance of her, he finds himself fighting the urge to slide his hands down to touch her shoulders, just to witness more of the lethality she can unleash upon him. However, he doesn't want to scare her, the thought of scaring his wife makes him feel sick inside, and it hurts him to see that Lisa is frightened of him, pushing her further will cause unnecessary setbacks."We don't have much time, Lisa." He murmurs quietly and tenderly against her soft lips, although the unmistakable suggestion of urgency and fear can be heard too. While Jackson just watches her through absolute sorrow in his vividly diluted eyes, and once again, his gaze is completely open, as she is searching his face with her intensely green, tear filled eyes and an admirable resolute look on her face, obviously she knows his capabilities.

Fighting against the impulse to look away so he cannot see the burning tears prickling her eyes, fighting to keep the hot droplets hitting the skin of her cheek, either lean into his touch and affectionate gesture like her body is so desperate to do. Alternatively, whether she should take a step back and slap him as hard as she can, leaving an angry bright red hand mark in its wake, because of how tortured he looks. Although Lisa can feel a warm tear trickle down her left cheek, and he gently wipes it away with the soft pad of his thumb as though he is trying to say 'I am so very sorry,' while with so much love in his poignant watery lake blue emotive eyes. Watching his expression closely, the deep sorrow in his expression making his brows furrow and slightly creases his forehead, along with the remorseful tone mixed in as the silent tears roll down his pale cheeks. His anxious remorseful transparent eyes are still gently brooding behind those ridiculous far too long lashes, his usually fair freckles making him appear even more gentle, ageless, innocent, and sensitive, and chewing his lower lip contemplatively, she can see him trying his hardest to keep his full lips from quivering. It is the same expressions that he has been keeping throughout the night, looking like a vulnerable, remorseful, and dismayed little boy, even as he unconsciously fidgets in an awkward, hurt, and nervous manner. Nevertheless, even though actions speak louder than words, through his wordless helplessness and honesty, she still manages to maintain her resolve; she keeps her posture upright, feeling a slight twitch in the muscle of her right cheek, as she grinds her teeth agitatedly.

Concurrently she also subconsciously takes a deep cleansing breath through her nose making them flare significantly, trying to control her breathing from becoming erratic; this effectively puffs up her chest slightly, as she stands determinedly strong and holds her ground. Automatically responding to her natural impulse, she pulls him fiercely, robustly, forcefully, and ruthlessly towards her, hearing a brusque ripping sound in the weighty fabric and feeling the fibers weaken and strain noticeably in her hands, where the fibers are being stretched to some extent. Combined with this, without really thinking about it, their foreheads are touching again, his dark and sweaty fringe sticking to hers, and because of the salty smell, she wonders if they are going to become tangled. However pushing that thought away to concentrate on the task in hand, she hisses incredibly callously unsympathetically through gritted teeth making her jaw ache by the action, and in a contemptuous demanding tone, as her voice is furious with anger against his mouth. Concurrently her face has twisted into an expression of utter venomous anger and rage, her eyes flashing dangerously resentful blazing with a scorching anger, but at the same time one of deep and troubled sadness, hoping this is spitting fire into his face. Because though he looks as distorted from her point of view this close up, as she probably does from his, they are so close, his lips are only a whisper away from touching hers, inside it makes her shrink with uncertainty, the silent battle she is having inside her head, and uneasiness, sensing a level of familiarity and closeness. While also feeling in safe hands and protected with the physical closeness to him, even as she feels his hot breath steaming against her skin, although additionally needing to know the full extent of what is going on."Well you had better start don't you think?"

Standing only two inches from her face,maybe even less, looking into those exhausted bloodshot green with a hue of gray eyes on him, Jackson can see she is being as courageous, strong, and absolutely beautiful as she's ever been and being incredibly honest with him, and Jackson Rippner can respect that. It is as if they are linked as one: their thoughts, feelings, traveling straight from his head and heart to hers. Cognizant she is seeing the pathetic dangerous dreadful man he is, the obnoxious egotistical asshole fiend he has been. However not the relentless killer of the wicked doers he's always been, and will become when the time comes. On the other hand, she knows who he is at work, and she knows who he is at home with his family. He watches as she closes her eyes tightly, and frowns in the darkness behind her eyelids, feeling her trembling slightly; he can tell that a tension headache has surfaced, and she is trying her hardest to push some of the pain from herself. Leaving him to swallow the lump that seems to have developed a permanent spot in his parched uncomfortably aching throat to no avail; it doesn't matter how many times he tries to gulp it down, it still sticks to the back of his throat, bobbing disobediently. After a minute or so, as soon as she gradually opens her eyes completely, and taking a few adjusting blinks, she keeps them level with his, and as confident, alert, and honest as always, ready for whatever he has to hit her with, although mixed in underneath the grey stormy lake hue with distress, rage, fear, and anxiety.

"This is what's happening..."He speak composedly and softly, although with the trace of apprehension, his eyes increasingly remorseful and worried, never leaving hers, as he suddenly feels the distance growing rapidly, spewing out space between them; as he sees himself moving far off like he is no longer inside own his body. Making him pause for a calming deep breathe, while he tries steadying his now wavering trembling body back to the here and now. Because it feels as if the flesh and bones inside himself are growing colder**, **making his stomach flutter with nerves, as he is sure he has broken out into a cold sweat. At the same time as, the contents of his stomach is flipping-flopping, feeling similar to rough and ferocious stormy ocean waves, crashing violently against the jagged rocks, as he feels himself involuntarily continue with his explanation still watching his wife, in the same poignantly eloquent tone, laying out plain, functional facts. "As far as I can tell, Leese, we have enemy agents in fifteen-E, twenty-four-F, and thirty-D, The big bulky guy in twenty-three-A: I think he's an air marshal Leese, a Vietnam vet and wily as a fox..." He looks at her for a long time, saying nothing and his eyes scanning her stunning face, staring at her whole posture; how her shoulders are tense and her brows are furrowed screaming at him as clear as day about her rage. Still she looks as directly and furiously in her eyes as she ever has; that it feels like it is no longer the pressure is dropping from him, or one of the world's oldest clichés. To him, the sight of her like this astounds him immensely, because she is that beautiful, vibrant, intelligent, determined, and independent kind of woman he loves. That Jackson can see as the wheels in her mind turn with her Customer Service face, multitasking as she always is, and trying to come up with a solution and an answer to his last declaration, concomitantly this causes him to smiles crookedly on the inside. Because however hard he tries, he can never argue with that look, seeing, as he knows he has done wrong to her and their little girls. Even though he knows it won't get him anywhere, all he wants to do is snake his fingers in her hair, bend down, and plant a gentle and tender affectionate kiss on her forehead as if to say 'I'm sorry. I had no idea'.

They are still watching each other intently in long, heavy strangely disturbing silence, which can to anybody watching from the outside be interpreted as them challenging one another, except Lisa senses it is rather through the uncertainty between them building endlessly further. Which makes Lisa exhale slowly in her deep contemplating, weighing the pros and cons of answering, when she suddenly realizes the feeling of goosebumps that have been flooding her pale skin, and is causing the small darkish blonde hairs to rise significantly. Concomitantly without realizing it, she also becomes conscious of the fact, that she has been holding her breath this whole time, the sensation is just as overwhelming as for the other times, a sensation of familiarity, and the tiniest portion of security. It's most probably for the reason that, she doesn't know what to make of this, along with at the mess that has been building in her mind this whole time, exhausting her mind, heart, and complicating her feelings of love for him.

However, the raw honesty, apprehension, and sorrow in his expression, and the way his dazzling clear sky sensitive eyes are looking straight into her... God. Her thirsty, nasty foul tasting and sore throat isn't helping, because there seems to be a lump that is accumulating a permanent spot in her throat, so when she swallows it is to no avail, as it's still there no matter how many times she tries to gulp it down. However ignoring the heavy burning lump, nauseating taste, heart pounding, she considers as to what she can say to him. Since his last statement has caught her attention, and she knows looking up at him the unbelievable way his transparent emotional eyes are looking back at her, he had meant it. She draws back slightly, but still looking at him, meeting his eyes, with mild puzzlement mixing with the despair, panic, shock, and betrayal on her face. Lisa's heart is pounding intensely hard against her chest, and she knows it's a mix of elements blending to unreality: the day itself, the fact that she is very tired and very wound up, all at the same time.

Suddenly, for some reason Lisa is unable to tell who she is angrier with, herself, him, or the people outside watching them, and she cannot help but let the feeling of malevolent contentment spread within her. She answers him in her thoughts right now, as she can save her accusation for later, when they've extricated themselves from this mess, and she knows their daughters are safe from harm. Instead, she lets her inner voice do the task, carrying such power, exasperation, and coolness, that it makes Lisa herself involuntarily shiver. She's still mad at him, mad as hell, her eyes now dark giving him the supreme death stare with sharp daggers and blind venom mixed in, for this whole mess, and again for dragging their family into a mess. "Wait: So what you're saying is, you know who Keefe has watching us." She also assumes that Jackson would have a good chance of recognizing the bad guys just because of his work, since he would know Keefe was the one who ordered it. It was planned, and he and his team were planning around that to keep them safe, nevertheless, he knew without telling her. She knows that because of his work, it would be confidential information, but it is something he and his team would be investigating, and gathering intelligence on national and international criminal activities that threaten the security of the homeland, including his own home.

Meanwhile the part that isn't furious with him, knowing that he would do everything he could in his capability, control, and authority to keep them safe. Whereas he and his vigilantly competent team would also be, proficient professionals and would be acquainted with the "top ten" or "top one hundred or so internal corrupt, deceptive, and disavowed agents and organizations". This also includes the secret underground ones promoting terrorism in the United States they have been keeping a meticulous eye on, that Charles Keefe would have hired to assist in staging his own assassination attempt so to say. In spite of this, and her livid disappointment with him right now, she knows she has to focus all her resources and Jackson's on assessing the situation and resolving it, while keeping themselves, her father, and their vulnerable innocent naive little girls as safe as they can.

With an expression of responsibility, sorrow, and concern on his striking features, he acknowledges he is not only is he looking at his wife, he also seeing the mother of their little girls. Furthermore, he is looking into, and reading her as a caring affectionate husband does; amazed by the sight of the women he is so proud and privileged to call his wife. Jackson can tell without no doubt in his mind that from her facial expression, and the way her eyes are looking at him incredibly irritated, and looking intensely and sincerely into him, that she has many questions that need to be answered, once this is over. The important ones, one being, how he knows who is on the flight, and the other one being why are they here.

However right now, he needs to continue explaining the plain simple facts; the only quandary is where to start with this whole main problem for Jackson is, he wants nothing more than to say 'no deal'; and wants so badly to cause enormous severe hurt and pain on the sick bastards on the plane watching them right now, because in the back of his mind, all he can see is the image of his exquisite naive innocent daughter's. The image of them being the wonderful, rapturous, and lovable little girls they are, doing the things that they do every day with him that make them so happy. The wonderful sight of Emily's bright and dazzling blue eyes, as she laughs uncontrollably, while sprinkling fairy dust on him in her bedroom, trying to transform him into a princess fairy too, dressed in her favorite pink princess fairy dress and prettily decorated fairy wings. Along with also seeing Millie's brilliant green eyes, and smiling mischievously furthermore being the usual absolute bundle of energy she is, dressed in her karate pants and superhero tee with wings strapped to her back, as she happily battles him on the living room floor with Henry and Harry the dinosaurs, trying to save her superheroes from evil king daddy. At the same time, he can see little Olivia with her shining green eyes looking far into the distance, as she is in her own little world, with her arms spread out wide flapping excitedly due to her stimming (Self-stimulating), while spinning circles in the back yard, both of them in the paddling pool, water lapping at their feet.

Each and every time, he can always see Lisa standing observantly approving by the doorway, an enormously radiant contented little childlike half-smile playing on her rosebud mouth, with eyes a shade more gray just as they are stunning, pure, and beautiful as each of his daughters, her exquisitely beautiful face shimmering with motherly pride, amusement, and happiness. While she watches them play fun games, spending daddy daughter time with each of his exceptionally magnificent little girls, as her hand covers over her mouth while she tries to suppress her laughter at what she sees. He is permanently delighted and confident he can incessantly tell her dimples are in evidence, and he always loves witnessing those outstanding dimples of hers, the same way he loves seeing his just as breathtaking daughters. That he wishes this were earlier on the plane when they were comfortably flirting with one another, they seemed to have no worries at all. But most of all so he could be reassured she was all right, and see his wife's fantastic dimples right now on full display, and their children are asleep tucked up in bed safely dreaming their fantastic dreams.

Knowing there is no way what so ever, that he is willing to risk the lives of his children, but he will never give up Lisa either for this fucked up situation. He would rather sacrifice himself life and limb, than see any of his family hurt, and he hopes through his sincere apologetic expression and actions Lisa can see this. For the reason that they are the most important, loving, wonderful, and extraordinary people he knows and loves, and he has gained so much humanity, devotion, and affection, he has surrendered to another's rightful feelings. This shouldn't be misconstrued as weakness, the reality is just from having them in his life, he has grown stronger as a person, and he will not let anybody take his family away from him, because otherwise he will lose the best part of himself, and there will hell to pay. When the cheerful memories disappear gradually, suddenly the thought of that and the situation makes Jackson swallow hard, desperately trying to get rid of the now thickening lump more painful tightening that has started to accumulate again, and the pungent acidic tasting nausea that is trying to get through a small gap.

At the same time as the anxious sweat that has been gathering and prickling the hairline behind his ears is now trickling slowly down his neck, also serving as the grave reminder that their loved ones are in serious jeopardy, is striking him with blunt force. He is hesitant, for a few moments,opening his mouth to speak,but closes it again**, **subsequently leaving him shaking his head, while also unconsciously biting at the muscle of the inside of his right cheek, as he is studying Lisa with enormous amounts of sympathy, that he hopes is showing in his expression**. **Just as she is relentlessly glaring harshly with ,looking all business at him, through the curtain of her hair that has now begun to fall in front of her face, refusing to back down, he recognizes and comprehends that Lisa's anger is justified**.** She is visibly incensed and disturbed by his disclosure; but also being so strong and keen in the circumstances, yet to those agents outside are in a vulnerable position and it makes him feel bad for them, because he truly knows Lisa is going to lay down as much hurt as he is**. **Underneath her exterior, he can distinguish that she is more lost and desperate, which means she is even more dangerous, unpredictable, and intense, as everyone has his or her limits, and that's a fact he knows well. In spite of this, he also needs her to listen to him, and look him in the eye, because he is having a hard time keeping his eyes locked with hers, not when he feels so uncertain, annoyed with himself, and in fear. Nevertheless, Jackson Rippner, from a distance away, watching himself he can feel the anger in the way his wife is breathing, the heavy, powerful shift in her torso, the strength in her arms and hands, realizing how much he didn't want to hurt Lisa anymore than he has and that her anger is understandable**.**

When his body finally comes back to reality of flesh and bone shaking him out of the reverie, becoming completely aware that he still has a lot to explain, which in turns makes his mind speculate the men outside in the cars, who aren't just watching the house. He is fully aware that while the rest of their family sleeps and have many exciting dreams, there could be a chance that they could be in their house, looking for things they can use to their advantage and maybe enjoy their selves a little too. Which causes his body to turn freezing cold inside causing a cold shiver, while Jackson's inner voice is tight with tension, and though very low, it still carries a powerful kick of rage. The natural superiority in the voice sounds crucial, and subconscious, the one he uses to address his commands to his team, in a 'I will not tolerate this tone'. "If I had enlightened Lisa with these little communiqué, maybe things wouldn't be this bad. They could have come to a plan, then they wouldn't feel threatened and frightened by what the guys in the BMW's are and will do, also our young children wouldn't know about it."

All of a sudden, red blocks his vision of his wife, as the dark heavy conspicuous contemptible thoughts of all the malicious insensitive callous things that he had said to her in regards of their children and her father floods his consciousness. Of the succession of emotions assaulting him like a powerful mental slap to the face, the strongest one is complete and uninhibited guilt for his betrayal on his family. He cannot suppress the idea that should anything happen to her and their little girls, his heavy heart shrinking into a tiny painful ball, cognizant they would be written off by a heartless insensitive Keefe as just some collateral damage that needs to be disposed of. Therefore, he cannot claim to be a victim of entrapment because he was ready, willing, and able to commit the crime charged in the indictment whenever opportunity was afforded, and those government officers and their agents have done no more than offer an opportunity to save his family. On the other hand, if the evidence leaves a reasonable doubt whether he had indeed intended to commit the crime had it not been for the inducement, blackmail, or persuasion of his families lives on the part of some fraudulent government officer or agent, then he will not be guilty. Even so, he would rather go to jail if it safeguards the protection of his family from further harm from Keefe and his men, than make them suffer this any further. In spite of this, Lisa was not ready and willing to commit the crime before her interactions or acknowledgement with the government agents, so under duress or coercion refers to the situation in hand. Whereby she will be performing the act through no fault of her own, as a result of violence, threat or other pressure against her and their family will be immediately killed should they refuse, from him reluctantly and the corrupt agents aboard this flight who are doing this for their own egotistical and insatiable intentions. Ultimately, it all comes down to money, status, and upward mobility within Keefe's team, using the most efficient and effective route to complete the job.

Consequently the relentless contemplation and forethought causes him to hear the voice speak again, now in that harsh stainless-steel tone, keeping the voice barely above a whisper above the rumbling engines and sound of his own arduously apprehensive breathing**, **the churning of his queasy unsettled gut as every single word slowly, severely, and straight out bluntly. His blue painfully at his wife's disdainful expression with stinging tears clouding her pale make up stained face slightly, seeing her greeny grey overflowing tear filled, unadulterated anxiety, and fall of questions eyes, gaze glued unwaveringly forthright into his. "So do your daughters and your father in law a favor Rippner, and stop gambling with their lives, I don't want to have to tell you that again?"

With that comes the realization that time is rapidly ticking away, like grains of sand disappearing and slipping through your fingers, in a blink of an eye, Lisa releases a moan of serious frustration trying to figure out if he knows how much it is flaring her temper, and disgruntled anger at Jackson's lack of response. He doesn't wish to make her angry again, does he? Because she is fully conscious that he is in an awful, almost disturbed silence of consideration and deliberation, she can see his mind working on something relentlessly, as his forehead constantly easing in and out of a frown. Lisa's mind goes into over-drive trying hard not to attach mental images to that statement; she knows she has to call the hotel, but what about her father, and the girls at home? What is Jackson going to tell her? Moreover, what exactly is the plan he and his team came up with as a line of attack or an approach to this? It's a crowded plane, full of people who have caught the last flight out to Miami.

The people watching them are agents, not the hijackers that they usually should be investigating, and are definitely not flying the plane into the hotel, that would endanger American Citizens, tourists, and people could be dead. This will lead her to manage the emergency and other major issues involving guests, employees, as well as the facility, causing bad public relations with the media, the local governments, and other businesses. While additionally dealing with the many additional duties being a manager, on top of managing projects and the renovations to the hotel, while trying to get business back to normal as quickly as possible. It is obvious none of them would be suicidal, almost certainly more driven solely because of greed for money, immoral deception, and most of all they want power, which is persistently most of the inspiration. As it is on no account neither seen nor understood by the public, rather becoming the norm, but they are definitely not doing this because they have nothing to live for. Everyone knows that hijacking never ends well, especially for the hijackers. From what Jackson has told her in the past about hijacking, and the whole terrorism plots scenario is, It's way too messy, too public, and it would be too trashy to pull off after the incident of 9/11. She also knows as a General Manager and from conversations with Jackson, that there will be plenty of investigations, and cover-ups, that will be going on, instead they are incapable of acknowledging their own crimes, and by the agencies who will deny their existence with them.

"Do you care to enlighten me already?" She asks him after shaking herself out of her deep reverie, in an extremely harsh and snarling in frustration, the upset she is feeling, appearing in the undertones of the question. Rapidly losing patience tired of his inattentiveness about her, seeing the wild expression on his face. When he doesn't seem willing to elaborate, she urges him on edgily, her eye glaring with tears appearing in them trying to draw him out of this mental anguish, frustration, and turmoil that he is in.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

At that moment, Jackson can feel his face turning to stone, as though he is trying to suck all the emotions he has at this moment into a tight container, his jaw muscles flexing from the strain of his attempt at self-composure. Taking deep breathes through his nose, drawing air more deeply into his lungs, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders, although additionally hoping his anger and fear, his irritation and doubt, will melt away too, furthermore frowning at the tears abruptly stinging his eyes muscles tighten considerably and at present a dull ache strike like lightening in his forearms, he knows is from their bent position as he's cupping his wife's pale dismayed tear stained face. This is in tandem with his lean strong muscles, absorbing the natural painful acid endured during exercise into them, causing the stiff position to make them shake to an extent, with the apprehension and nervousness. Fortunately, the rush of adrenaline mixed with the anger he has for Keefe and his men, in the company of exhilaration he is feeling about being able to hurt those people, completely outweighs the pain, although he wonders if this is also to remind him of the pain he is causing to the women in front of him. In spite of this, at the same time Jackson's mind is too focused on only one thing: getting Lisa to know what a malicious, avaricious, and falsehearted man Keefe is to his country and them, while also trying to make the has worked on political blackmail stings before, and he knows how to persuade people into doing things for him, however this is his wife, and he has the misfortune of the minor inconvenience of doing this on board a plane after the funeral of his wife's grandmother.

He expected resistance from her, and is proud she is, however he is also trying to take this in stride and not think of the consequences, although it is awkward and difficult to do when it's your own innocent and so sincere children being seriously threatened. Nevertheless, with her head cocking to the right Lisa's expression is far from broken; instead, she looks fearless, confident, fierce, overpowering, and hopeful, her sharp lagoon green grey eyes although seeming hard, with tears gathering slowly and looking as though they are about to spill over. Conversely looking at him and exclaiming something entirely different**, **begins hespeaking quietly and blending strangely with the strangely soothing hum of the engines. "Leese this may shock you, but I've got wire taps, extracted secret hidden documentation from his computers and archives department, surveillance pictures of Keefe going to meeting, as well as looking at the blueprints of the hotel. Not to mention we have hundreds of hours of taped testimonies, intercepted transcripted telephone communiqués records, DHS security footage, bank account transactions and copies of checks... you name it." He says in an anxious yet determined in spite of that tender tone, it comes out of his mouth like an order, which he is used to giving to his team with him realizing. As his magnificently glowing blue eyes drive into her, even though they look tired, sorrowful, apologetic, and regretful but nonetheless just as persistent as his tone, staring at his wife who is throwing him a loathing look, while her once emasculate hair is now a frizzy and damp mess with her shining with threatening tears emerald eyes, are now reddened. Making him gulp down a minute part of that heavy lump residing its self, in the back of his sore and somewhat dry throat, feeling a little more tolerable to swallow now, along with the relief of finally being able to tell Lisa what the hell is going on tonight.

As he tenderly and gently let's his thumbs rub her the tears away from her cheeks for one last time, ahead of him letting his fingers slide her face carefully, accordingly in a appropriately caring affectionate manner he slowly pulls them his expression and movements demonstrating that he means no harm while also conveying he is neither angry with her. He cautiously reaches for the lapel on his left side, opening it up a little, his right hand sneaking into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, like a professional thief at work, or as if he is being negotiated to show what he has inside his discretely extracts a white plastic and metal long rectangle, which is actually Olivia's personal iPod, with mostly has three songs on it, and complete in the company of carefully rolled up cord from his own buds. Instead of the small white headphone Olivia usually uses for listening to her music, as he knows they are quite large for a breast pocket, and they are the only pair she will tolerate wearing on her ears. Without them, she will start to cry, pace with hands over her ears, while once and a while she slowly and methodically rocking on her feet, leaving poor Joe even more bewildered and exhausted than he is at the moment. Pushing those upsetting and fretful thoughts from his mind, he continues to stare at Lisa, who is just gazing at him with disbelief in the midst of astonishment, combined with the familiar questioning expression on her face, complemented with tightened white lips and eyebrows scowling.

Among all the questions in her reddened heartbreaking eyes, and he can tell that she is, waiting for her him to continue with his justification, realizing that he still doesn't know quite how to handle it himself. Waiting for Lisa to reply forcefully with intense understandable demanding questions, but instead she just continues to stare at him still as though she isn't very impressed with him right now. This forces him, to resume his avowal, after clearing his congested throat, furthermore frowning slightly; and mechanically without looking at what he is doing, keeping his strikingly intelligent razor-sharp blue on his wife comprehensible expression. As he cautiously pushes the small rectangle of the white iPod back inside his suit jacket pocket, and is barely able to draw breath under Lisa's intense green stare making his voice strained and slightly gravelly. "On Keefe and his team, with plans of what he wants to do from the very beginning, Keefe has mapped out _everything_ to be noticed as a hero doing his patriotic duty, Keefe had given orders and pinpointed the exact location he wanted everyone to stage everything. By using, one of the CIA's many Backdoor Clandestine departments, disavowed agents, and the different entwined agencies. Those men and women, aside from the ones on that boat are financially invested involved in the scheme, so gain to profit from this and to get a promotion or to be part of Keefe's special covert team, while also regaining their credibility."

Pausing for a moment, to take a deep breath, before he swallows hard vociferously, trying to get rid of the rest of the thick lump and painful tightening that has once again started to accumulate, for what seems like the hundredth time tonight. Meanwhile his vivid blue eyes look so exhausted, earnest, with glimmers of irritation towards the perpetrators, and concern for his family. He clenches and unclenches his jaw grinding his teeth together, subsequently he continues to explain to Lisa, feeling the growing rage that is flaring inside him, as an aura surrounding him; it electrifies the air around them. He's unsure on whether to unravel next piece of the story, that is undeniably ratcheting his comfortableness and concern several notches higher, which incidentally seeps through in his already strained voice. "Who avail is from illicit power sources, to make a name for himself, in an attempt to boost ratings because of the super efferent nuclear power plant he helped build in his hometown, which has been found to have design flaws, and defected parts used during construction. This could effectively cause the structure to crumble and overheat, causing Massachusetts to have a major core meltdown, which could possibly result in up to four thousand fatal cancers at an unknown time in the future."Watching her the whole time, howshe is looking at him without fear towards him; instead, she shows nothing but concentration, frustration, questions, and intelligence in her lake-gray eyes, while glancing down to her throat seeing the slight unsteadiness in her pulse, with the subtle rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes.

He comes to a dead stop, conscious to the fact he can feel the bile stinging the back of his throat, as he is about to continue in a pained and dread filled tone. Watching his wife's stunned expression with wide intelligent eyes while her mind is churning all her millions ofthoughts at once**, **with his eyes darkening as well as silent, that are clearly showing the furious pace of his own thoughts. As he processes them, and the detrimental, destructive, and sickening consequences, his brain still reeling although suddenly he hears his own voice speaks again,the softness in his voice with a slither of an incensed edge, which he distinguishes, is very matter-of-factly; however, it is not directed at the wonderful courageous woman in front of him. "He's a very dangerous, sick man, with assassins, trained field agents, spies, hackers, torturers, researchers, con artists, a few serial killers, rapists, pedophiles_ all_ at his disposal. The people in the car are working for Keefe; they will try to kill your dad and possibly the girls as pawns." He goes silent again for a moment; his expression pained, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, feeling a chill ran up his spine and spiked the hairs on the back of his neck. He knows that their wonderful kids are asleep in their rooms just down the hall, the man he hired to watch the house could break in, have just slit Joe's throat from ear to ear, and ransacked the house. Nice and quick has always been the trademark, leaving him dead in his blood-soaked bedsheets. Aware that when they woke up in the morning all excited to get grandpa up, they'd find out why their grandfather hadn't woken them up to get them earlier to get them ready for the very thought of their little girls hurt because of that monster entailed set him on edge, and a hot nausea burned in his chest and stomach, their little girls seeing something like that, at their young ages, God, and then knowing that you helped that happen. He could only imagine what they would feel and he doesn't want that, he wants them to wake and see their grandpa smiling at them and being goofy, as they get ready for the beach and wait for them to get he chokes out the last part, trying to contain the shame and vulnerability bubbling in his chest at the thought, heart pounding incredibly hard against his chest, he whispers with the slightest tremble in his voice as if he is about to cry, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady. "I don't want that to happen, and neither do you."

His words hit her chest like a hammer, causing Lisa takes a moment to let everything Jackson has said register, while she feels sick to her stomach; a sour foul taste filled her mouth accompanied by the disgusting burning sensation in the back of her throat. With the thought of what Keefe's person was doing in that goddamn BMW is probably planning to do to her dad and their 3 little angels at home, once he is done, their three beautiful daughter's formerly rubicund glow, would now be pallid translucent skin. The thought of what Keefe's person was doing in that goddamn BMW is probably planning to do to her dad and their 3 little angels at home, the man deciding that Millie, Emily, and Olivia deserve a painless death. Shaking with tremendous murderous anger and rage accompanied by fear and dread at the tone in his voice, her jaw drops open she can feel her heart pounding against her isn't only anger she can hear…it is fear and apprehension; and the vulnerability he is displaying, she is perceptive that it isn't easy to scare him and the undeniable truth is that he was obviously scared for them. Which means he isn't lying to her, because unbeknown to them, things have gotten more very real, very quickly, and the pit in her stomach has now turned is no doubt in her mind that his reaction is real,now that she is aware of who he is angry with and scared at, she knows that she can confront him; knowing he doesn't want to do this to her father, herself, or their beautiful little girls. However, if so, why was he doing this to her? How does he know everything? Keefe was the one who ordered this to happen it was all planned, he knew all about this, and yet he still went through with this why? She feels her heart begin to beat harder still trying to let everything register, managing to control herself for long enough to speak as suspicion, disbelief, and incomprehension is heavy in her questioning tone of voice. "So you're saying Keefe would do something to our children and my father, if this isn't done to plan?"

Unexpectedly just as she can see Jackson open his open and is about to answer, brusquely, the dim lights flicker a couple of times, and then stops, the bulb now slowly growing brightly once more, like an energy saving bulb when you first turn it on. At the same time, Jackson shuts his mouth again, only to be replaced by the squeaks and buzzing from the wires and gases in tubing it's self above them, indicating the light is on its last legs. Fortunately the sounds blend in nicely with the already loud ensemble of noises occupying the room with them, however the action makesLisa stop suddenly taken aback, causing the almost disturbed an awful, silence between them both to reawaken,at the same time as an intense frown appears on her face, with a deep indentation line between them. Her troubled anxious managerial mind is evaluating thoughtfully, measuring, and assessing relentlessly the questions in her own jumbled mind of consequences and problems for a moment, more adequately the gigantic elephant in the her facetwists in an expression of anger, questioningly, and incredulity with herbrows knotting together**, **plunging ahead without missing a beat, her words exhale small puffs of breath against his chiseled jaw and keeping her eyes locked with his**.** "Wouldn't it have been easier for Keefe, to have someone breach security, turn off the security cameras, and to kill him inside the hotel room? Say like a disgruntled undercover, posing as housekeeping, or a bellhop? Alternatively, because of the largely evacuated top floor of the hotel with it's really nice panoramic views, he could have maybe hired someone from the US Army, trained CIA agent, or an assassin to snipe him from the hotel directly in front of the Lux, or the one across the street behind it?"

She stops abruptly, in disturbing resentful tense silence glaring at him scornfully, trying to figure out if he knows how much this bullshit is flaring her temper, through the tone of her glance she swallows forcefully, jaw clenching. Lisa's voice is suddenly tight with tension, bitter, and though very low, it still carries a powerful kick of rage, she declares gravely while a horrible stone is rolling over in her stomach and forcing out the question, past the congesting lump in her throat. At the same time, mechanically her grip tightens considerably strongly around the thick fabric of his lapels, circumstantially causing his lean shoulders to hunch significantly with tension while wincing as if in pain, and his eyes that are as if the first ices of winter under a clear sunlit sky are squeezed tightly shut. "Jackson, you and I both know this is completely ridiculous, and thoroughly endangers hotel guests, staff, as well as the safety of our children." Irritated, while her blood is instantly boiling by the prospect of Keefe being anymore stupid, injudicious, or an attention grabbing publicity whore, and in cold realization, she remembers that Washington Avenue is right behind the hotel, and is one of the best-known streets in South Beach, home to countless shops, and major hotels**.** Simply put, this is peak season for tourists the streets are jammed with traffic until early in the morning (as late as 6 am) every night of the week. Not to mention it is now a popular living destination for the wealthy that set up home here, in the condos of upscale high rises that sell for millions, where the high-rise and high-density buildings are considered as a "concrete jungle." However, the people of that development may possibly see this unfold, and assume it is another attack like 9/11, which could potentially affect tourism, causing the area to become dilapidated since it has now been known for years as a low crime area.

For a moment, because he doesn't trust his own voice, Jackson lets her see it, sensing the bewildered, heavy, the anger dwelling in her, and the somewhat accusatory silence, too eventually he blurts outautomatically the first response stuttering like a little boy."Buh-buh-but-" Knowing that is not even a proper worthy reply, and has made him wince instinctively, hearing the sound of his own unconvincing tone. As he feels the sweat collect on his knitted brows, Jackson feels as though he wants to forcefully tug at the top of his dress shirt, so he can loosen a couple of buttons as it feels although the collar is restricting around his throat, as it's slowly choking himand he starts fidgeting**.** Something along the lines of knowing, such a simple answer with sarcasm could cause him more trouble, and trying not to picture of the consequences even though it is escaping out of his mouth loose and unbidden, like a white water river**.** "But, honey, assassination attempts have to be wide-reaching, brash, and overly complicated to send the right message. It's the manly-man way...!"After he hasuttered the last syllable, he suddenly falls into the complete silence that they were in before, both of them attentively staring at each other's undeniably emotive expressions. While he takes this time to consider his answer, which he thinks it might have been wise to suppress since he is already on rocky ground, even though every now and then he likes to think of himself as the manly man of the house, in his own eyes.

Unable to keep her husband's silent regretful remorseful gaze any longer, Lisa turns her head slightly to avoid eye contact, and takes the opportunity to think over the recent events, mainly the past few hours, for a moment wondering if this is some kind of when he was explaining the situation, how his eyes had spoken volumes; she saw no arrogance in the man in front of her- just a hollow attempt to recreate the hard exterior. She would have to have been blind not to see the raw sadness and desperate confusion written all over his stunning angelic face, beautifully frightening affectionate clear blue eyes, and his posture. With her impassioned determination seeping through, Lisa resentfully struggles with her confused and conflicted feelings towards the situation and her husband, as she slowly turns her head towards him, and lets her intense eyes connect with his again, as she stares straight at him, carefully studying him. How was this happening? Of all the contingencies, he must have planned for...this wasn't something he could have anticipated. This has to be some kind of joke, what did she do to deserve this? It feels as though someone is punching her in the stomach and she is losing her breath. At the same time as she waits impatiently for the questions to spill, as they all of them boil down to the same thing: Why would anybody do this?

Continuing her trail of thought to their two oldest daughters, knowing Millie who seems to be a miniature version of him, only with her green eyes, and Emily who seems to be a smaller version of herself, could plan an efficient plot for the assassination. It's funny how it reminds her of when Millie and Emily asked with serious faces, and intrigue in their little voice and on their little elfin faces, as they were signing to Jackson, what his job is one night during leaving a rather awkward, stunned, and bewildered Jackson trying to think what he could tell the girls, who are at that age where they are figuring out what daddy's do differently from mommies in all aspects of their daily lives, something they ask questions about every aware he couldn't just come out with "I'm a Manager for a law-enforcement agency, who specialize in neutralizing threats to the country and around the world, organizing, investigating, setting up, hunting them down, and apprehending them, using whatever means possible to gain answers to their crimes."Subsequently instead in terms of maybe making it more suited for young enquiring ears, he came out with in a soft and gentle honest tone while signing in addition to smiling brightly, "... Daddy helps the governments keep track of and catch bad guys, so they can't hurt anybody anymore." Furthermore it makes her wonder what the two little girls have planned for the bad people, if they decide to go inside their home and search for information, and especially what Millie has written in her jam packed spy book and is willing to risk her own safety for greater good of her sisters. "Jackson you do realize your five-year-old daughters could have constructed and devised a better strategy than this convoluted piece of shit, they could of even have written all the mission briefs better than all the ones for this idiocy Mr. International Man of Mystery." She replies to him contemptuously after concluding with her thoughts, with fragments of irony, sarcasm, coldness, and disapproval laced with a tiny slither of amusement in her voice.

Jackson hears her voice right infront of him; however, he is unable to form the words he wants to say, while Lisa remains strong, looking impatient and waiting for some kind of reaction from him, until some kind of coherent word decides to form from deep at the back of his throat, sensing the bewildered, heavy and somewhat accusatory silence. "I …" To be truthful he doesn't know what to say… the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat, furthermore her beautiful face is looking at him so evenly, with suspicious weaved through, valiance shining, and most of all thoroughly enraged. In spite of everything, it is also making him feel incredibly guilty about what he's being doing to her, wondering how he should approach is he supposed to respond to that with? The truth is that he really doesn't want to do any of this, the situation with the Keefe's has gone too far for his liking, Keefe found out about the plan and called him. Telling him that because of what he has exposed, Lisa, and the kids are in even more danger, all because he had discovered Keefe's strategy, and nowhe's the one that is pulling the strings here**.**

Another long silence drags on, the dull thrumming of the engines fills the air, sucking up the atmosphere like a vacuum, and making her already heavy head swim, as thousands of sentences and questions are battling for release, simultaneously trying to adjust to the new information she has just been given, the more irritated she she hopes, the silence between them is cutting deeper into him than any words can ever have managed, while she decides what she is going to say with stern determination, and without a comment because she doesn't trust her own voice at this moment, Lisa lets him see it, that and the anger dwelling in her, this is causing Lisa to get even more frustrated with herself and her sorrowful anxious husband, she begins after the long period of silence, finally spitting with venom and antagonism, while disbelief as well as bewilderment seeps through her aggravated blunt tone sounding more frustrated than angry as her now chilling lake green grey eyes are narrowed, she is aware they are drilling into him like a pair of knives, feeling hot with intensity as though they are screaming at him as she feels her composure slowly slipping painful intense burning sensation in her chest has increased incredibly to the point where her lungs want to rupture, and her heavy sinking heart stops beating, at the same time as also longing for the lump in her throat would disappear, thankful for the turbulence keeping her from doing something she will regret. Additionally, she isn't going to lose her job, because the company who are hired by Keefe decided to take out the hotel with such a senseless attention-grabbing plan, and are using them as an scapegoat. That's when more questions come rushing through her already exhausted and questioning mind, pulling her indignantly. "… And rocket launchers to my hotel? What the hell is this, and why stop at one? You're telling me Keefe came up with this shitty piece of work of a foiled assassination attempt by terrorists? He paid good large amounts of dirty money to destruct part of my hotel as they do in movie scripts, with dozens more people injured or killed, just so he can be deemed a hero." It comes out as an exclamation of hurt, outcry, resentment, and incomprehension.

Through the intense tension in the air,he lets the noticeable flaws in the strategy, as well as the unabridged words sink in, the implication that he's not only hid this from her, but also seen and heard it all. That contempt is meant to be a cure for his own shame for Jackson; however, it just adds salt to the already opened wounds he has severed. The ointment being the plan to eradicate Keefe's plan, keep their children, and save the country, and for the aftercare he is going to have to tread lightly around Lisa, show his love for her in gentle doses, and for him to finally gain his trust again. "Yes, well I seem to have exceptional talent when it comes to disposing money-grabbing, self-centered, corrupt politicians who try to steal from the people." Just to make sure she is listening, he has stopped halfway through what he is about to declare, watching for any sign of response, what he sees is his wife swallowing hard, giving him one of her highly regarded Customer service expressions. Trying her best to hold her ground and doing a fantastic job, as he continues on trying to explain as best he can, his voice is soft still, and absolutely regretful, with the feeling that maybe he got a little too absorbed in his job. "The heroic modern version of Robin Hood, and I never said Keefe was a saint, Lisa he has many dirty little secrets. This is my line of work, it's what I do, I deal with politicians pretending to be all saintly, but are taking money from munitions, getting dirty money from arbitrage, while disavowed agents help with concealment, by stealth and control. I don't like it, as much as you don't, unfortunately it's my area of expertise, and Keefe knows who I am, and what I excel in."

He knows those people Keefe is working with all appear in the Specially Designated Nationals list, which he has been helping the government with the collecting of all the coldblooded terrorists, and terrorist organizations from around the world; as a consequence, to any civilian it would be nothing if not very surreal to know how many American names appears. After a long beat of quiet contemplating, his gaze catches Lisa looking at him frowning in anger and disbelief at his words, as he declares gravely. "But think about what lengths he has gone to just for this hoax; every move tonight has been perfectly formulated and strategized. Who's to say he won't start a war, or stage an uprising of some sort after? I know his type Leese, he's corrupt, and evil, and he needs to be taken out. Men like him are the reason we have chaos and destruction, because terrorism is so useful nowadays in making citizens compliant."

Finally, swallowing the rest of his annoyances in one go his eyes are refusing to regard the woman before him in shame, staring at a wet spot where her tear have collected on the soft cashmere fabric of her cardigan. Jackson's regretful remorseful clear eyes happen to catching the sight of the hemming on the lacy pink bra she is wearing, incidentally causing him to also gaze upon the hateful scar above her breast. Slightly upraised, slick from the humidity in the room, and dark pink; looking at it closely examing the visibly contrasted skin, and the noticeable patterns the skin has made when healing. He knows any other man would think to himself that it's a sign of strength as well as weakness, but to him at times like these, he has to wonder how she can ever be weak at all, because the scar makes her even more stunning, courageous, feisty than ever before. No: the scar he knows has given her strength, honestly through his contempt for the filthy man who'd done this to her, he would like to thank him personally: because the assault has forged an unbreakable power in her, fearlessness, even if she, at this moment, she doesn't fully realize it. Where the small part inside knows her pride lays is in how she'd managed to endure, she's starting to move on; and how she'd survived; she is very much alive. He is the one she should trust, and has been starting to trust again, Lisa Henrietta Rippner, his best friend, lover, the mother of his wonderful children and his beautiful strong and stunning wife. Remembering during their vows, how they both promised to cherish and respect each other, to care for and protect for one another, to comfort and encourage, and stay with you, for all eternity. The simple and sad fact is for all her outward, dayside she composure, she is somewhat feeling alone and internally damaged, but for better or for worse, through their 8 years of marriage he knows her better than anyone else. On the other hand, he has urge to take his beautiful, strong, fiery passion of loving wife into his arms and comfort her, however instead he moves his dismayed terrified affectionate gaze from the upsetting discernible scar, and pushing down the instant burst of rage for the perpetrator that comes with it. His gaze drifting carefully up to Lisa's face, where he forlornly stares into her poignantly stunning eyes the entire time, and she courageously doesn't look away as he says in tone that is hauntingly gentle and soothing. "It wasn't supposed to go down that way, we weren't supposed to go to a funeral, and we weren't meant to be going through this much stress."

With her temper flaring because of where his loving contrite clear blue eyes have been on her skin, and it scares her yet somehow, it also unveils warm comfort, as patches of angry red flushed Lisa's cheeks. While is tightly closing her eyes at the arrival of another bout of sharp rolling pains, that is indicating another oncoming headache, feelingher chin quivering, she shakes her head and pushing down the piercing abrasive pains with the surfacing conflicting thoughts swimming around her head, to focus on the problem at hand. She growls through clenched teeth and her words were punchy, with tears welled up her narrowing eyes at him, wondering if the salty drops are going to start overflowing freely onto her flushed cheeks again**.** "Then how was it fucking supposed to have happened Jackson huh?"

After a rather large, thunderous shrill sounding, and violent forcible bump, this jerks Jackson powerfully towards his wife, throwing them both off balance, throwing them roughly against the hard mental wall behind Lisa, while the vesselbegins to rock back and forth intermitted with violent shakes**.** He sees Lisashifting uncomfortably and trembling slightly under theimmensity, at the same time closing her eyes at the force of the push, as his body is against hers and too close for comfort, leg to leg, waist to waist, mouth to mouth, and acknowledging it might elicit a panicked round of fighting. Due to his weight smothering her,he knows she feels breathless, conflicted, and extremely claustrophobic, Jackson can see she is trying to be defiant as her heart is pounding against his chest, so he gently lifts a little of his weight off of her, drawing back just far enough to look at his face, to give her some personal space**. **InternallyJackson has a troubled smile, as on the outside he frowns profoundly, knowing she will not be happy with his response, and why should she? Especially after he's threatened his daughters who are nothing but wholesome, naïve, good, innocent, and most of all kind, was a bastard about letting her call the house to speak to her father, as well as going to the bathroom and feeling like scum because of it...

This leads him into considering telling her tactfully about how this incident would have been handled better, maybe how Keefe is trying to illustrate his authority, influence, and dominance by doing it this way. It seems as fundamental as well as too preposterously unreasonable, that after spending 8 years of marriage with this extraordinary woman standing in front of him, the idea that he shares his body, he trusts her in the most intimate physical ways possible, even though he know she has only started to trust him again in the same way. They have shared these forms of intimate instinctive gestures during nudity, sex, in sleep, even in sickness, along with the small natural caring indications that are shown everyday without realizing, and are unquestionably necessary tonight and until Lisa feels willing to trust him again. Meanwhile he feels unable to share with her everything she needs to know about how this was meant to be accomplished; it seems rather absurdly bizarre that the body can be more honest than the mind, even for a man who claims to never be economical with the truth.

Unexpectedly at that moment another vigorously strong forceful jolt shakes him from what he has planned to say,all of a sudden the florescent lights above are all blinking alarmingly throwing them into total darkness for a short moment, then as the lights, suddenly flicker once before it came back**. **As a result, it startles Jackson who has to brace himself by putting his palms of his hands against the cold metal wall adjusting his eyes by blinking and squinting, the sweat from his hands making them slip slightly, while also trapping Lisa unintentionally as the plane convulses with violent shudders for the third and with sensitivity, and attentiveness, Jackson leans down so that his face was only a mere inches from hers and his lips part just barely as he stares into her eyes the entire time, while inhaling her scent, as a consequence he can see Lisa trying her hardest not to look away from him. He says softly though his voice trembles, his expression haunting, despondent, and consternation, his bushy eyebrows knitting together into one pensively, as he starts reaching out to rub her face, however she recoils, and he hears her breath catching in her throat, she smells and looks just as wonderful as always; her skin is just as soft. "I was going to take you away to the Bahamas for the weekend, so we could have a well-deserved break from the kids, and was able to relax by the pool, taking our time, relax in the fresh air, and sit in the sun in near-silence."

He can see Lisa watching intently at every movement he makes, leaving him to let his hand hover in the air his for a moment before he drops it circumspectly to his side; he cautiously and kindly leans close to her again to where their noses just touch, but leaving her some space. Where he in a loving, intimate, and tender gesture, gently nudges her nose with his own as he does so many times over the years during certain personal circumstances of pleasure, happiness, and distress,knowing his eyes are also exploding with intense emotion and right now, and thankful Lisa can see them playing out**. **As hesuddenly, finally regaining her ability to speak, heis able to continue with his testimony, whispering it as soothingly, smoothly**, **sincere, and comprehensively as though he is explaining something to the girls at bedtime story. "We was going to have Duncan change the company codes at second level, we knew all the different authorization codes changed daily for each manager and assistant manager that is on shift. This would allow us particular levels of access depending on their level, before the bastard made his way down to the large conference room for his evening conference with financial contributors, fellow Congressmen, lobbyists, aides, local leaders, security representatives, and senators on the new power proposal. Someone on my team was supposed to get Seleena to change their room, while another kept Cynthia busy, so Keefe and his family can go into suit 4080 because of a 'plumbing problem' in 3825, and then at 5:30 the missile lands, and Keefe's men get them out safely."

Through the thrum of the engines, if he listens closely, they could probably hear the lightening flash and the horrendously deep low rumble of thunder, and the windows all collectively being splattered, and smattered with big, heavy drops of rain about 45,000 feet above the ocean. While the lights flicker for the third time, then come on with a low buzz, meanwhile Jackson is wondering if the whole plane concussing with thunder as bad as it is in the tiny room they are currently occupying. With each passing second watching as Lisa looking at him very directly with a death stare that could surpass his own in a staring contest, she is understandably angry, scared and wondering what they should be doing as of a plan. As he can hear her extraordinary diligent brain going into overdrive, no doubt trying to figure out her next move, while also trying to get her head around the situation pondering the reality that she might never see their family again. He just hopes Lisa keeps the Oscar winning performance on for the agents that are on the plane watching them, because inhis experience; it is rarely a good idea to make a complete plan in a one-session brainstorm unless you absolutely have to, fortunately they still have a little bit of time to think about it.

Now that he has told her what is going on, to the best of his knowledge, how many enemy agents are on the plane, and where and who they are. He at this moment wants to tell her what she needs to know- and what he knows at this point in time, she no longer believes but what she needs to hear even if, at the present time, she will never admit other hand comes up and gently wipes her face, caressing the tears from cheeks, all the while, looking at her glistening eyes, which show how completely puzzled and irritated as though she is struggling with an internal dilemma,she is retreating as far from him as she can so to avoid his touches**. **As well as probably wondering, what this monster, the great Jackson Rippner has to say to make the situation better, while she is concentrating on solving their current predicament. Focusing on her green eyes, which are brimming with a thousand questions needing to be answered fighting their way to the front of her mind, in the midst of dread, heartache, and understandable infuriation he now understands that has been more than just a job since the beginning, this has become deadly and dangerously serious. "I am so sorry for doing this to you, I love you so much Lisa." He proclaims before licking his lips, and swallowing hard to get rid of the choking feeling, as he becomes aware of the tears well up again in his translucent eyes, and let's out a deep breath before continuing his declaration. "I know I've been acting like a complete asshole to you tonight, and you don't believe me right now, to be honest I don't blame you. But just know this Leese, I will always love you, and I will never stop. And I would never do anything intentional or dangerous to hurt you, or our beautiful little girls." His words drift softly in the air with a slight tremble so nerves, sheepish, calm, friendly, almost as if he is slightly begging, furthermore concurrently sounding thick, raspy, and as tired as he looks, gauging her reaction, and cognizant that there is no way he would ever dream of endangering his precious Leese, or their wonderful children**.**

After his sincerely honest and emotive apology to his lover, confidant, and soul mate, he finishes wiping her tears, letting his fingers gently, tenderly; it's the compassionate gesture of a lover. In addition to a loving husband and is perfectly natural, just as it's small gesture of reassurance, even though he knows they should really be moving now, he cannot resist, as he sensitively begin to trace the lines of her face, her forehead leading down to the arch of her eyebrows. The index finger of his right hand, follows the path down the bridge of her nose to the tip, then to the areas on each smooth cheek to her delicate jaw line, and finally to her perfect soft lips with the attention of a painter cataloging the tiny details. The silence between them is almost formal, although there is something extremely intimate about the way this feels, it is a way of showing Lisa affectionately how sorry he is, it comes naturally, something meaningful; his touch is light, almost shy, hesitant, tender, soothing, yet searching. Something shifts in the atmosphere around them, which Jackson recognizes that this is no time for them enjoying themselves; bit it is good enough, good enough for him now. Especially when Lisa is deservedly infuriated with him, in the company of the hurt and betrayed look upon her beautiful face and in her tearing green eyes conspiratorial and the truth is he wants her to be angry with him too, he feels like a rotten son of a bitch because he's still hurting her.

In reply, subconsciously Lisa for a second holds her breath which effectively puffs up her chest slightly, gritting her teeth, and trying her hardest to fight against the urge look away, as well as shutting down her nerve-endings so she doesn't feel his warm hand tenderly against her skin, but she manages to maintain her resolve. The way he is so lovingly caressed her, those gorgeous emotional blue eyes expressing his emotions into her own, holding her attentively in their unbreakable gaze, how his soft but rough hands, and how they continuously feel so natural and soothing on her skin with tenderness, it causes her chest to tighten painfully. Even though her instincts are telling her to lean into his touch where she has no doubt goosebumps will erupt all over, and the other part of her wants to turn her head so that the upsetting gaze will not pierce her. Therefore, she doesn't have to look at his face with the expressions of compassion and kindness from such a short range, while the small part of her brain that isn't infuriated with him wanting to cause him grievously bodily harm, is screaming 'You love him too'. Therefore he should be the one to whom she finds it easiest to turn, her best friend, lover, the loving father of her wonderful children, and husband. Insteadwhen the moment of freezing panic and contradicting thoughts passes, emotionally drained, but high on adrenaline she pulls him forcefully to her, so their foreheads are touching their noses almost touching, she is heaving for breathe from the force, once, twice, she shoots razor-sharp daggers at him with her eyes, and consequently her stare is cutting into his like a knife, breathing hard. At the same time as she sucks in a harsh breath, she knows will be warm against his lips, while attempting to be courageous but unfortunately her heart is pounding against her chest, in time with the throbbing and pulsating in her head, along withthe blood drumming in her ear almost deafeningly**.** "I think you've said enough!" She fires commandingly in a mere whisper to its sincerest depths, as she straightens her posture, while holding her ground, the words coming out punchy and in a disgustedly venomous tone, only wavering with voice carrying the sharpness of a knife's edge, and she doesn't intended for to sound so fierce, at the same time underneath one of deep and troubled sadness, but it the way she is feeling right now about him and the situation it has to be this way. As she looks directly at him, the frown between her brows, the steely concentration, feeling incredibly frustrated that she is unable to yell at apologetic looking husband but wishing she could, while face heats up, making her wonder if small angry patches of red have flush her cheeks again.

She's examining him in a tenaciously, dubiously, sensitively manner, through her green intense tear-filled eyes fixedly glaring at his handsome face, as his eyes forlornly strays to her belly for the second time tonight, while chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. Through the thick fog clouding her mind, his proximity in some ways should give her a feeling of calmness, familiarity, and security, with his accompanying scent engulfing her with the same sensation. However right now though her temper coalesces into a searing knot of fury in her gut, she can feel tears of frustration prick at her eyes, because of the succession of emotions assaulting her, the strongest one is the feeling of betrayal. Prior to her intertwined hastening dreadful thoughts drawing level with her body she has already loosened her grip on the material of his jacket, uncoiling them and using the flat of her hands to shoves him back as hard as she can. Subsequently they are mere arm's length between them, while she lets out a barely audible but intense concentrated expressive guttural grunt. Pushing him so hard, his back landing against the wall the opposite metal once again, banging hard with a loud satisfying thumping and crashing sound, that resounds around the room from the reflection of the walls around them, while the little voice in the back of her head is cheering her to go Chuck Norris on him.

Silently slipping out in one easy watchful stride with stern determination out of the cage-like space left between their bodies and the wall, she cautiously turns towards the locked door bracing herself emotionally and physically, suddenly realizing her aching feet in her high heels are starting to pulsate again in time with her already insipidly aching throbbing head. All the while, the refined instruments that are worse than torturing, that they call shoes are killing her feet as though they have the sensation of tightening considerably, while also cramping with the added inevitability of pins and needles increasing the dull ache. She knows she is only two more steps way before she is into the gangway, finally she has a small period of freedom, as she lets her sweaty right hand slowly start applying the first downward pressure to the cold door handle. Unfortunately, she finds herself stopping the action to the door handle, and standing stock-still, afterwards she slowly turns in the natural direction of Jackson, and with serious resolve, all she does is raising an eyebrow a brief war between exasperation and urgency on her face, as he licks his lower lip in nervousness as she regards him. While trying to avoid his penetratingly poignant gaze, those beautiful eyes of his are currently gently moping behind those natural far too long girlie lashes of his, in the meantime his silence is more than anything else is, unsettling, along with the fact that Jackson doesn't move from the wall. It is as if he is an exposed, repentant, and wounded little boy, even as he unconsciously fidgets in an awkward, hurt, and nervous manner, with his arm to his sides hanging limply, it's as if he is a naughty schoolchild lectured on what he has done wrong and awaiting the punishment. In complete disbelief, through her irritation, and the feeling of dismay, she casts her eyes back at the door, she instantly grabs for the cold door handle, still feeling his eyes on her back as a result in restless anticipation, and she runs her left hand through her hair in frustration. Because she knows that as soon as she opens that door, she is going to be leaving Jackson alone, while also facing those unscrupulously harsh unsentimental agents and she has no idea how of them is going either to react, or have planned for them. Their plan needs to have as much leeway as it possibly can for the uncontrollable things they have no control over, otherwise they won't stand a chance. Applying the first grease-on-metal slither of the bearing in the door lock, a second later, she finds she has automatically pushed the handle all the way down, as soon as the sound of the locking clasp slides from its scarlet side: she realizes that IN USE has now turned to the green, with the VACANT in dark bold lettering. This means the agents are now watching their every move again, and probably going to think from the outside perceptive, she is vulnerable; however, she will prove them wrong. Heaving her heavy high-heeled feet along the smooth floor as she conscientiously, moves away clear of the door, clipping the hard surface of the squishy unhygienic floor, and taking a deep cleansing breath in beneath another terrible trundling of thunder, while the comfortable silence seems to be pressing in from the craft metal framed structure. She unperturbedly and with conscientious attentiveness drags her weighty throbbing tender feet as she exits the threshold of the small room a quick glance around the area revealing the aisle and galley to be empty, as she is trying to keep up the appearance of being natural. She stealthily checks to make sure that her clothes haven't fallen back into place, and that she isn't exposing any unnecessary flesh, knowing all too well a blush has risen to her face. Finding she is cursing herself mentally for being so immature, so inhibited as her right hand automatically grabs for the handle with her even needing to turn around again, shutting the door quietly.

Taking a deep breath in, chasing back the urge to throw up, wishing to be over with the whole saga, he stands glued to the spot in complete overwhelming astonishment, as he stares at the door Lisa has just exited. Unthinkingly he lets his left arm rise behind his neck letting his fingers rub the tender sore point in the centre wincing as he does so, while his right is smoothing out some invisible wrinkles on his disheveled rumpled looking jacket, still leaning against the metal wall, trying to stay composed and effectively immobilized his body. Because to Jackson her anger towards him, as well as her bravery and strength is magnificently shining brightly off her, a fleeting glimmer of hope, like a beacon of hope, while he nervously pulls at his shirt collar feeling suffocated. She needs her space and a little time to recover before he makes his way back to his seat; he knows that at the moment, it is best for him to leave Lisa alone, and he respects that, he realizes how much he is hurting her and just how much that hurts him. They have dealt with many struggles through the years, and as a team, they have drawn strength from each other, encouraged each other and this has helped them to manage to overcome those complications life has thrown at them. Moving his gaze to the mirror, he sighs ashamed at the man being reflected in the mirror while his eyes drift across the reflective image of his exhausted, apologetic, and regretful face makes him finally look away because of all the problems and images of things going wrong that are running through his head. The sore tender part of his neck now becoming extremely painful and uncomfortable, as if deepening the shame he is already feeling. All he knows is that they have to get a scheme and think of a solid plan together, assessing, measuring, gauging, evaluating, the situation as best as they can, however the choice they make will determine if they are their family will come out of this alive.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note:<strong> Sorry this chapter is so long, I was trying to show their thoughts and emotions concerning what have been revealed. I promise the next chapter won't be so long, but will be packed with more interesting encounters.


	12. Chapter 12

**Authors Note: **I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed, and alerted the story; thank you, so much and I hope you continue to enjoy the story. I would like to thank Punctuator for her continued support and advice on my story, and putting up with my questions. :D In addition, the fact it has taken me over a year to update, I had writers block and have been doing a lot of research.

**Warning:** This is a pretty long chapter with no conversation, I am very sorry if this appears to be boring.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 12<strong>

For the moment, the turbulence seems to have calmed down slightly, taking advantage of this Lisa is standing quietly at by the door, leaning forward and pressing her tightly creased forehead against the solid blue door making the skin rub abrasively causing a tingling stinging sensation. Even as she stares blankly at the scratchy coarse texture and patterns intently, while her brows are huddling over her translucent feminine emerald with flecks of hazy grey eyes, which are positively ferociously sizzling with irrefutable rage coupled with aggravation, although also inquisitive combined with contemplative. Presently the incessant warm all-consuming tears are suddenly stinging in the bottom edges of her eyes, causing her to draw air more deeply into the piercing sharp pain in her lungs, before she releases a deep breath, thenceforth another, sensing some of the tension alleviates from her shoulders, stiff neck, and aching muscles. This leads her towards desperately, yearning and needing to slip out of her high-heels, so she can arch her feet a few times, working out the kinks, ache, heaviness, and soreness in them. Accompanied by the assuaging sensation of the brand new cool to the touch earthy tone stone kitchen tiles would bring comforting her sore feet, after the very long exhausting couple of days. At the end of the day, she would prefer to have to immerse her shattered body in the bathtub the bath water tingling, surrounded by bubbles, and the wonderful smelling organic bath products, inhaling the scents from the large candles sitting on the ledges in the corners. She can just sink deeper sliding under the bubbles and hot water into the hot-tub-sized sunken tub, considering it one of the few luxuries she enjoys where she doesn't have to think, and she can have some precious time alone bringing a sense of peace to her as a whole.

Despondently, the unpleasant smell of freshly brewed cost-effective coffee that is blending nauseatingly with the not very enticing smell of their cheap dinner is snapping her attention; both are effortlessly creeping into her nostrils and surrounding her overwhelmingly. Succeeding collectively with the acerbically piquant taste of some southern fried chicken, she consumed at the funeral's ceremonial dinner that has decided to make its appearance recognized. She grimaces with an additional appalled look in her eyes; she judders considerably at the atrocious taste of the small amount that has made its way onto the tip of her tongue from the back of her throat, before swallowing the rather foam-covered burning mixture back down added with her stomach flip-flopping in rolling waves.

Meanwhile In the background the harsh clattering of the metal cupboards that are being opened, the rumbling drum of the hollow metal trolley dodgy wheels grinding as it is being moved against the flooring, and faint humming coming from the flight attendants mutters. Blending effectively with sound coming from inside the small 3x3 bathroom, she can also hear the sound of her husband's Italian leather shoed soles are sucking against the hard surface of the floor, with the soft whispers of Jackson muttering under his breath. As he attentively, moves around the small room, with the sound of the cold-water tap course, letting it cascade down the plastic sides to the plughole as he prepares himself and splashes handfuls of cold water on his face. All those different character of rhythms and tones are so perfect together, in time, the sounds announce that as an orchestra is playing a beautifully dramatic piece of music that seems to fit the situation and her mood perfectly with the rumbling baritone of the engines in the background.

Of course, this is not without the ever present blood drumming deafeningly in her ear, her heart pounding in her tender parched throat thump, thump, while through the crescendo of tidal waves the massive throbbing headache is creeping its way forcefully back to her frontal lobes. That throughout the evening serving as a perfect representation of the struggle that Keefe is playing against them, at the same time as Lisa tries to assess the situation. However, with the pain continuing to grow into the realms of one of her fantastically entrenched migraine, she appreciates and relishes the reality that it is a symptom of this internal battle. However, she is trying her hardest to push the pulsating nuisance of a headache back into the numb dull ache it had been, where it found a comfortable place for itself earlier tucked away in the deepest recesses in the further reaches of her skull. In the mean time with incalculable necessary mental exertion and determination, she is somehow able to forget its existence for a moment, as it is reviving from the earlier ruckus before dizziness threatens to take her into a world of darkness.

Inwardly though she is somehow becoming lost in thoughts of comprehension to the verity, concomitantly the clogs in her mind going into over-drive a hundred miles an hour, she had never asked for this to happen, especially tonight. Furthermore, she definitely did not want Keefe's wife, and their 2 wonderful children to go through this, her father and their young children, plus potentially thousands of citizens living in Massachusetts. What is Jackson's plan to get them out of this god-forsaken mess? All she knows is that because the stakes are so high, they have to find a way to help stop the corrupt that are threatening to disturb the peace, except time is quickly becoming fewer and fewer, it is the time act, there are many logistical issues to deal with. They have to make sure they have changed his room, even getting Keefe, and his team to change hotels, and do it possibly just before his arrival with his car convoy of imposingly sleek Escalades and several security guards, every single one dressed in dark black suits, and earpieces. Between three and five is generally, when the nightshift employees are starting to wind down, ready for morning shift to arrive for work where the hustle and bustle starts again, and the grumpy retirement customers start to wander down to the hotel restaurant with their free entitlement cards for their complimentary breakfast.

They will have to do the deed between then, while also making sure the agents observing them are satisfied by their actions, as any extraneous calls may arouse their suspicions, and you never know who is monitoring your phone these days. In addition, she also accepts that it's not going to be as easy as it sounds: from experience and conversations she has had with Jackson, politicians have a good reason to stick to well-tried locations, for security measures of course. Though Keefe's excellent team always use the idea to request to having a decoy room at all the hotels they go to, unfortunately she doesn't think Keefe would use that idea as it would be fairly obvious to people that would be the perfect solution to the threat on him. That Immediately causes an abundance of questions to keep on beleaguering her already troubled mind, and they all seem to boil down to the same thing: Why and how?

The Lux Atlantic a premier hotel and its surroundings look over the gorgeous bay as far as the eye the sun can see due to the wall-to-wall ocean views of bright beautiful serene waves in mixtures of color ranging from the crystal blues azure, cyan, and aquamarine. Making up the Atlantic waters, as it sparkles lazily under the sun; looking breathtaking from the hotel penthouse suite, where the distinguished guests are able to breathe in deeply the fresh brackish scent of the ocean as the crisp salty breeze goes by. Furthermore, relax for a few precious moments watching as the boats come and go from the marina; however, Keefe needs to be switched to 4080 on the 40th. While 3825, is midway up the building facing South Beach's premiere open-air pedestrian mall shopping area, many restaurants, office buildings, and several nightclubs, with asymmetric double-glazing for sound dampening and reducing the transmission of exterior noise sources, and with darkening materials incorporated, that the strong sunlight passing through the glass is reduced in brightness.

However, the glass is transparent enough for someone to look through, as well as use special aiming attachments on their guns to shoot through the glass and kill Keefe, his family, and a handful of men inside, usually seven or eight at most depending on the occasion throughout his suite, without alerting those inside the room. Seeing that both suites are able to serve their purpose, and make their visit more comfortable, as they have been decorated with their mind-blowing contemporary opulence, modern, elegancy and functional in mind. What an interior designer would describe to you in extravagant artistic speech, as a contemporary Art Deco fusion with elegance that maintains its trendy appeal. As they also boast a generous balcony with a lavish outdoor Jacuzzi, access to one of the 2 private VIP rooftop pools, and to put it mildly they are inopportunely an open target in whichever suite they stay.

Which begs the question, how often do wealthy executives, political figures, dignitaries, celebrities, and CEO's not book up, penthouse suites on any given week? More appropriately, how does she know Keefe doesn't have people, or no doubt have had their associates hack into the hotel's mainframe computer on a night when the computer system is slow, and has had a relentlessly devastating poorly written program that corporate thinks they can save money being installed, for the last few days? Who authorized this, unless corporate thought it would be a brilliant and cheaper idea to update all the systems at once, instead of one department at a time like was planned? What if the problems Cynthia and Seleena are experiencing with the messing of the hotel's servers, as they are going at a snail's pace, is because Keefe's men have with foolish thoughtlessness planted an array of viruses that are literally helping to wipe out all reservations made during a four-day period? And she wouldn't put it past them either as well, the probability of three different families having ended up booking the same room, and with no rooms left open in the emergency file. All the more, it's not going to help matters that the three tired and frustrated families are all going to come in at the same time, and each argue their case for a half hour over who has the right to get the room. Didn't the brains of the company think this was going to be delaying the installation further? Accompanied with the hackers intention to precisely make sure suit 4080 is available for their shitstorm plan, and there is always that chance it isn't merely for show? With everything going wrong, the meeting for today booked in conference room 3 that Cynthia, a few of the other managers, and the other staff have been preparing are probably working hard to make sure through the chaos being caused, the meeting is going to be set up as planned. More to the point, is Jackson's highly respected computer technician specialist, security-systems specialists, one of the senior programmers, black hat hacker, and software/hardware engineers Duncan Trint, his team of assistants, and his top three team in Information Services doing something using playful cleverness to achieve a goal about it?

Was their initial plan to take place at the hotel because everybody would be under tight surveillance and they could organize the room switch face to face in case of any questions or mistakes that might arise, and everybody would have been safe, just as Jackson said in the bathroom? Could it have been as simple as that, but as it stood Keefe's team were scrambling for an alternate plan when they left for her grandmother's funeral on Thursday, Keefe deciding he wanted to change his time of arrival to suit. Therefore the corrupted politician now refused to budge on their timetable and new far more dangerous plans, which under the circumstances so too were Jackson's teams strategies were effectively ruined.

So the first question would be when did Jackson learn about the change of plans Keefe was making? Was it before the funeral? Alternatively, was it when he received the call during their cab ride to the airport? On the other hand, was it at the Tex-Mex when Brad called? Most importantly: Are Jackson's team and agent friends still watching the hotel, to protect her staff, patrons, and apprehend Keefe's agents? These are the questions; she plans to ask Jackson once Jackson gets back to their seats, or when the time is, right, which she knows he will answer truthfully to the best of his knowledge, as well as fill in the gaps to those questions.

All on a night, when the thunderous and stormy weather front is fouling all the groups of customers, tourists, a convention of political personnel and delegates, and a Regional medical seminar, an architect's convention, a law firm using the Lux Atlantic for their annual Leadership Retreat with overworked executive assistants. The last straggle of partying high school graduates before starting college, their flight schedules in all probability along with the others in the southern Atlantic coast and the Gulf of Mexico, all swarming around the airport lobby like hectic bees with last minute requests. Trying their hardest to get people squared away for the day at the airport hotels, While in the midst of working with the frustrated Catering Managers in providing food for those passengers.

Furthermore, what are the dorky bright sparks of The Lux Information Technology Department -and upgrading their new system and OS, while overloading the old version with new beta features, doing about the mess Keefe's men are causing on top of this? Now leaving countless people and several teams now to work overtime, fixing the mistakes and pandemonium several people – have put lots of time and careful thought into the planned operation. There is also a chance remembering Jackson's (level 5- 'us' clearance) conversations they have shared on his copious assignments during his active years in the CIA, and how his agents sometimes gathers information on assignments from underappreciated employees, traitors, low level criminals, likewise the observant or troubled circumstanced civilians. People like Keefe are always being generous with whom they given their information to, because there is a chance he has assigned someone to be an informant for him by negotiating with a rather lavish appropriate bribery. Which means what should have prevented in the first place, is going to take a while for everybody involved to collect all the strings and unravel the mess, to get everything sorted through back to normal. Nevertheless, it doesn't always work like that does it?

After all, what she has devised is an improvised plan with a little resourcefulness, ingenuity, and astuteness, but close to a rudimental objective, essentially ruining Keefe's plans, unless there are risks of informing from an insider. They need to make sure they get the Keefe's are out of harm's way, not letting the people in charge of launching a missile from the boat at the hotel room would effectively save the hotel, and a good chance the place will stay standing. Stopping dozens of unwanted civilian casualties on street level around the area, and most importantly making sure customers are evacuated to the assembly point on the east side of the hotel car park. Sheltered in groups under the awning, crowding the cabs and the cars coming in to unload, or they will be huddling in clumps along the sidewalk while the police and people who are core Lux personnel direct them to shelter from the rain, taking statements, and afterwards they'll be let back into the Lux soon enough.

Unless Keefe's associates have a backup plan in case things do go wrong with plan A, if the hit isn't are they going to enforce a subtle looking hostage situation closing down the whole hotel in the process, she can imagine that this could easily escalate. Where the unsuspecting guests are forced to be organized into different groups by her scared front desk staff, while at gunpoint by a Russian terrorist cell no doubt, before they have even managed to reach the hotel and customers out of immediate danger. The ones who are supposed to be checking out needing to make alternative arrangements, so suspicion won't be aroused when they don't go home. In the meantime, Maids will be handing out food, towels, and restocking bathrooms, maintenance turning off phones and other ways of communication, before guests are locked back into their rooms. As well as making sure, the unsuspecting people who have just arrived for their vacations are checked in, staff herding them to different rooms, and are informed fully of the situation.

Afterwards the deceitful men doing the same thing to her mangers and hotel staff, grouping and locking them into suites, the armed men are organized to control the hostages on each floor by the bullying corrupt criminal agent in charge. Again providing Keefe a way to show he is a hero, as he has saved his wife and children who he has used as body shield, along with over 300 customers from all over the country and the world and it's Keefe's fault- all of it, for everything that he's doing, and for everything he is going to do. The FBI Hostage Rescue Team having to step in, as they are trained to rescue American citizens and allies who are held by a hostile force, by terrorists or criminals, offering a tactical resolution option in hostage and high-risk law enforcement in highly sensitive and dangerous situation. What kind of sick bastard would do that to innocent civilians? Does Keefe really want to put his family in that much danger? Does Keefe realize that if this does go wrong, they could potentially kill his children, wife, and some of his agents? What would they have planned for her father and three little girls when they get to the house?

These thoughts make her stark, bright green-grey eyes are flaring in defiance shooting daggers so fierce, and severe underneath the sorrowfulness they are holding, her fists are clenched tightly in response her nails digging into her palm cutting the skin, feeling the sharp searing pain it is causing. To the point of, she is very aware that she could lose control with the strong desire to slam her fist against the flimsy wall around the plane. Otherwise, under her worried demeanor and dreading expression in her eyes darkening them a shade, she would preferably like to punch Keefe's face, only this makes her frown, her heartbeat seemingly filling the cabin as she starts thinking about it yet again silently, in disbelief feeling physically ill.

Because nevertheless, fortunately she is very aware of the advice she'd told Cynthia and her staff to follow in case of an incident: if there's a chance that a situation could lead to customers being hurt, you should find a way to lessen the toll through all means necessary. Therefore, the hotel doesn't have to close for a while, the police and federal agencies exploring the probable motives don't have to investigate her employees for their possible involvement or intentions in harming the Keefe family.

On the other hand, having to shut and secure the floors affected, as the staff continues to run things as usual, and try to shut down the hotel as best as possible without suspicion, all managing to organize over 300 terrified people. Nor because of the Lux Atlantic has gained bad publicity by the madhouse event, leaving too many patrons and people in the surrounding area afraid there will be another terrorist hit, directly affecting other hotels as well, and essentially not devastating the capital of the hotel or tourism in Miami.

Leaving the self-righteous Keefe believing it's all about the greater good, to be discovered as the deceitful, the black heartless, indignant, and vindictive second-in-command, instead serving as a message to pass a suggestion through the legislative and executive branches through the Congress and Senate. As well as causing chaos for those responsible for the messy work and necessary national pandemonium to feel incredibly stupid and ashamed for all the millions of plots they have devised. The government agencies and police hopefully posting a national scale alert on their systems to publicize to other government agencies across the world, helping them to investigate the evidence and motives of Keefe's connections with national and international crime and terrorist organizations. Whose names will appear on the Specially Designated Nationals list collecting all the coldblooded terrorists and terrorist organizations from around the world; that is if they don't kill Keefe first- an associate slipping him the drugs that would end his life, seemingly settling their qualms, and a plan that they should have executed instead of this convoluted piece of crap.

Which opens up the question: Homeland Security: Is it doing its job? She knows from the news stations that Homeland Security is a federal office that the former President had established after the September 11th terrorist attacks, the organization is supposed to be in control of the Intel Department for the United States. Moreover, is meant to be the first serious reorganization of the spy agency in half a century for the country, it controls the Terror Alert and the amount of information that it gives out to the public, focusing foremost on dangers even closer to home. Meaning it is meant to be for the first comprehensible organization that the public can rely on in projecting for the level of danger for the United States, of the reporting of attempted attacks from the terrorists. There for people who are brought up in a world where they know the government may sometimes be corrupt, but they are serving for the greater good, whereas people who live on the other side of the law are bad.

On the other hand, Jackson perception of the agency as a whole is that it is a great resource for all the government agencies to gather intelligence on terror threats against the United Sates, as well as connecting spy agencies together. However, Jackson's opinion on public acknowledgement is that it has caused fear that everyone could be against the country, and there is no one that will go against the country, at the same time the government is anything but democratic, it just puts on a good show, and doesn't reveal what's really behind the curtain. The information and intelligence is there for those who are interested in the constant level of the possibility that danger might occur in the United States, they can simply call up the Pentagon or the head office for the Home Land security. Nevertheless, people do not need to deal with the stress of having the level of danger being announced on the radio every day, though in Jackson's opinion is that we do need them in our lives, but do not need the news every single day.

Nevertheless, focusing her attention back foremost on the main and a little more dangerous problem for them at this time, in this rather overwhelming vacuum packed capsule remains: What should they do with the men watching them? That is something Jackson can make sure to fill her in on all the details on, at the same time she's also certain that she has a few subterfuges up her sleeves that she can share, for the reason that she recognizes she has just as much power as he has and can destroy them too. Nonetheless, she is cognizant that he will find a good way they can accomplish the task without little trouble, and causing unwanted attention. Whereas something like throwing one of them a good punch in the jaw, then hurling them against the wall and smashing their head which will knock them out unconscious. When she gets close enough, grabbing their head, while twisting their neck tightly, and listening to the lurid spine shuddering, cracking, tearing, and crunching sounds of snapping their necks would do that, but would be so satisfying. Mindful that if they were to rush things right now like fools, there is a huge chance that they'd blow things from the start, and they could kiss their meticulous plans goodbye and they can't afford any awkwardness.

Simultaneously with his aptitude, speed, impeccable instincts, handling, prudence, and capacity of persuasion he has employed in many undercover assignments before, she is confident he will achieve some way as to stopping them from gaining the opportunity of getting cute with their neat little stunts on them from 35,000 feet above the ground. They will be thinking they're in control, when in actual fact both her and Jackson will be in charge, essentially throwing them off their game and not live to tell about it because they have come out on top.

With those fresh thoughts in her mind fueling to her new mission, a peculiar malicious smirk forming on her lips, clenching her jaw tightly until she can feel the muscles shake violently, and she thinks her teeth are going to shatter. The ferocity of her expression is enhanced with an unyielding determination that could be mistaken for a devilish malice glimmer in her intense sea green blood shot eyes, which under the circumstances is intended exclusively for the perpetrators. Furthermore, she is relieved she is facing the door so no one else can see, as the surprising sensation of the tingling rush of adrenaline and excitement courses and a tingling shiver through every part of her body. That leads to the hairs on the back of her neck and the hairs on her arm standing up on end, while her heart is beating more rapidly, making her feel precarious. She definitely doesn't want to feel this kind of an influential and invincible high every day, except she understands she has earned the right to cut loose now on the people threatening her family, although she isn't going to let herself do anything dangerously stupid to jeopardize their line of attack.

On top of the complete awareness that she has been feeling this all night, reveling in how her strength has been radiating from her like an aura, the powerful woman with a righteous vigor, adaptable, efficient, and perfectly capable of holding her own. She needs to embrace that inferno transpired out of requirement as well as her natural shrewdness, which suits her just fine because she is going to own it, she is a woman on a mission and it gives her an enormous burst of pride. In spite of everything, it is what she has to do; she needs to keep her mind as sharp as tack, as people are depending on her, since she and Jackson are attempting to save countless lives dealing in a life or death situation, which includes their own precious family.

Now, that she has some notions all she needs to do is consult with The Great Jackson Rippner this information, adding some much-needed necessary information about the plan Keefe has, because sometimes little pieces of information spark new inspiration. On balance, Jackson himself told her how he is experienced in dealing with people, especially politicians who use deception, murder, extortion, and all kinds of methods of scheming tactics to achieve their intentions. Hence adding his expert thoughts to enhance the plan, and then sticking to it before coming up with a similar plan for home and the men planning to murder their innocent family, and she has confidence that if anyone can pull this off. It will be them as an unstoppable team not going down without a fight, as predators and protectors because you don't mess with Jackson and Lisa Rippner and get away with it.

Although back at home, she recognizes her constantly concerned father, much like her husband is at heart smart, caring, dependable, adaptable, skillful, able to fix problems, and levelheaded: and since he worked as an architectural engineer, and Jackson has trained him in some aspects of his line of work. It certainly will be the first time he has ever been thrown into an ambiguous position, Jackson working for the government, had always been a hard job to keep, being in the secret occupation of investigators determined to find the murderers, drug lords, terrorism, and criminals. Concerning tonight though, he has a lot of explaining to do for her father who has had no support from their wonderfully talented and caring support worker Nina, who was going to assist him with Olivia while they were away. A middle-aged motherly and caring woman solidly built to help keep Olivia restrained yet quite athletic and strong, tall height, deep-sea blue eyes, with straight light brown hair in the company of ash-blonde highlights. Unfortunate without that help their children and the situation her father finds himself in are the only weakness the enemies have against them, and she's sure it isn't helping the fact he's exhausted because of the extra pressure this has created, as a consequence, he is in need of a good long sleep.

She does however completely acknowledge that in case of an emergency like the one, they're in right now; he runs a more than decent chance of knowing what to do, together with Jackson's work colleagues, top agent friends in the CIA, and law enforcement on his side. Which adds the question: When did Jackson ask them to keep an eye on the house, and their family? Is it because he has valuable information on his hard drives they need someone to extract?

It's clear that their perceptive daughters have already established that there are people watching the house, the goddamn cold-blooded killers Beamer Brigade is on-site making their identity devastatingly clear! Then he might just stay inside, quietly make sure the doors along with the windows are secured, pull the venetian blinds, set the alarms, and surreptitiously keeping clear of the windows with his instincts on red alert. Even as he is making sure, his rambunctiously energetic granddaughters are still sleeping safe and soundly in their beds, not worrying about the imposing dangerous men, the loitering monsters her children imagine hide under their beds, and live deep inside their closets. Instead, they are chasing the big bad nightmares away, and being the excited and eager little creatures that are ready to ride their first real bikes, with their training wheels spinning ferociously, on their way to the beach in the morning.

In due course, snapping out of her trance and composing herself now that she is feeling physically and mentally powerful enough, she considers herself ready to face the music, turning her head towards the direction of the sea of mottled blue cloth covered headrests, praying that she is managing to appear neutral. Scanning around her professionally, but without targeting, the dim lights cast sinister shadows in the plane, she tries to keep a casual eye on the regimented lines with mops of different shades of hair peaking from the top of them for fear that there is slight movements. Though with each passing second she feels a little silly as her subconscious is imagining she is a spy and willing her to do it as her heart hammers against her ribcage like crazy. At the same time, this pressurized tin can is surrounded with the dull hum of the engines filling up the air like a vacuum, making her head swim. Concurrently she is considering how all of the Mr. Sinisters are now the life of a very small exclusive party, which is invisible to the other passengers, and they are unknowingly going to die soon with no questions asked.

Another loud drumming crash, of an object dropping onto metal wracks through the small room and tiny passageway, with it bringing her back to reality from her absorbing thoughts; she hears the older woman's voice, professionally polite trying not to swear, behind her. Presently she is surveying the scene infront of her as if nothing is happening with a nonchalant expression on her face, though her eyes are a darker shade of green and extremely severe. The unsettling silence of the cabin is eerie and unnatural, and sense of claustrophobia giving the impression that people's faces are still with their dozing- half-closed drooping eyelids. The movie being shown on the big screens in front look quite dull, although many of the passengers are probably staring blankly at the screens, she is sure most of them have already read the in-flight magazine, and have now turned to finishing their books. While others rest with their heads nodding to earphoned pounding bass beats letting the intoxicating waves of sleep wash over them, deciding it might be a good idea to sleep a little to help the time pass. Nevertheless, all of them are waiting for the next assault of horrendously, dangerous, and thunderous lurching jolts and bumps to arrive, rouse a collective chorus of moans and groans, having to brace themselves on their armrests and gritting their teeth against their trembling seats. Meanwhile the plane rattles in the rough turbulence, convulsing with intense shudders while rocking back and forth for the millionth time with each clap of thunder, systematically jerking sideways, almost making them bump heads after spending the last several hours sitting eight inches apart on this plane. How much worse can this get?

Immediately the queasy feeling from earlier, with the waves of that headache slowly inching its way back as though someone is trying to push a 10kg weight into her already crammed skull, with dizziness washing over her, as she sways slightly on her feet and primarily focusing on her breathing, and chasing back the urge to throw up. The movement looks like tall wild grass in a meadow, blowing in the wind on a spring day, on her slender, long legs as though the impending nauseous, fear invoking thoughts are nudging her. When all of a sudden, in one instinctively fluid movement, she turns her body to face the aisle marveling at the balance and control she has even though she is slightly shaking, with the warning voice that is screaming at her to continue to move, though her Manager Face is saying otherwise. Even with that smile, the smile that convinces everyone, even her, that everything is fine, as blood is drumming in her ear deafeningly once again. Concomitantly the illumination shining through the tiny oval window from the lightning flashing against the inner bellies of the blackish-gray clouds, that are contrasting beautifully against the inky black-blue skies with the lack of stars, and casting murky sinister shadows dancing across her features obscuring most of her, gives her eyes a slightly granite-green-gray look to them.

A second later, she allows her expression to slip slowly from customer friendly into cowed pale despair, although shades of her customer friendly face seeps through into her demeanor, and instantly her eyes metamorphose to downcast despondency. However still keeping the powerful ferocity shimmering through even in the shadowy darkness, she has spent the last number of minutes mentally bracing and preparing herself for what they are about to do, furthermore it definitely would help if she could feel Jackson's hand enclose over hers, giving a reinforcing squeeze.

In response, she can feel her achy feet in her heels continue to stumble on the carpet digging small deep holes into the fabric of the fraying carpet; it's as if a strong invisible overwhelming force, is willingly urging her forward roughly from behind. Down the corridor where the walls feel as if they are rapidly closing in on her, in the direction to the doom that lies ahead, restlessly trying to catch her breath, in conjunction with her shaky legs, which are endeavoring to synchronize with her feet. Worse still are the exhausted, worried, and deeply anguished tears burn inside her eyelids, but she blinks them away, letting the tears drift slowly down her pale cheeks furrowing her eyebrows. Cognizant she isn't just crying because of weakness and surrendering to Jackson, because she is unable to handle the pressure anymore, and relapsing into a little shell like the way she did after her rape. In its place, the agents consider in their prehistoric male driven minds she is using this situation as an excuse for acting as if she has been victimized by being over-dramatic, immature, whining, along with feeling sorry for herself getting so sucked up in the sympathy.

By means of the self-victimization (or victim playing card pushing her into that world of pity) where she is fabricating her victimhood for a variety of reasons such as, to justify the abuse in the parking lot, and that fact she has 2 disabled children to manipulate others, using it as a coping strategy, or quite simply for attention seeking. This also includes from what she heard from her beautiful college friend Sarah with her cat eyes and olive skin, courtesy of her father from somewhere in Asia and a Colombian mother, shorter than her, with thick curly hair and black eyes that flash with mischief. Graduated with a bachelor's degree, and she is now a successful psychiatrist in the Metropolitan part of Miami, mentioned victims of violent crimes and abuse, as having a pervasive sense of helplessness, passivity, loss of control, pessimism, negative thinking, strong feelings of guilt, shame, self-blame and depression.

When really, it's more a feeling like this but her behavior just isn't the problem - a bubbling of all of her emotions proceeding in one tearful burst, being prodded by a blunt object rather than something sharp, her insides are pulling her in every direction, which is probably hard for them to understand because they have never experienced it. Nevertheless, traumatic events like sexual assault will always stay, it may not dominate permanently in your thoughts as much, and however much you try to keep it eternally locked away, it still lingers quietly in the background of the subconscious waiting for its time to pounce, besides this is the only way she can describe the whole difficulty. Additionally she is profoundly and emotionally drained by the familiar anguish, torment, exhausted, drained, despondent, intense loneliness and isolation, and sadness that have become a friend for a while are the more intense and longer lasting washing over her heavily, that it feels as though a part of her has died full of pain and agony. Moreover, she has been struggling so desperately to stop her mind from drifting, with the feeling of her heart aching so intensely, accompanied from the reminder of the day's events. To her it feels as though it has been, undyingly split in two, with it comes the numbness of never-ending heartache, identifying and comprehending the actuality that Jackson throughout this ordeal, has been going through these similar and constant feelings inside him, that he is trying his hardest to fight with too.

However, in an unconscious reaction to her troubling sorrowful thoughts meandering her mind, she instantly slumps her weighty shoulders shrinking into herself with each heavy step along the thin-carpeted floor, and nearly trips over her own feet, causing her teeth to clench forcefully as though they are about to shatter. In addition, with the blood pounding furiously against her temples in a relentless swooshing of formless white noise, it throbs in her jugular and her wrists, and suddenly, her modest heels feel like stilettos slipping on icy ground. She's just thankful that she isn't wearing her nice designer high heels, her feet are already on the brink of dying, but instead becoming something Emily can have enjoyment wearing while playing grownups. With some of her blouses that seem to look like dresses on her, makeup, and costume jewelry, causing her suddenly to chuckle inside taking her mind unexpectedly from the dread she feels. Even as she contemplates joyfully at the delightful little mental imagines she is conjuring in the mists of all the provocation, apprehension, and despondency, it also furthers her feelings of hopefulness to new heights.

In the meantime snapping back to attention, instantly back to reality from the wonderfully cute images, she drops her chin pressing the lips into a thin line, her nervous and terrified granite greeny-grey eyes glance around the passengers, trying not to walk straight into someone's seat. Furthermore, taking the opportunity surreptitiously to check out the agents Jackson has identified for her as she passes by swaying somewhat through the rocking motions of the plane with each step. Watching the people around her vigilantly as she staggers by, nothing seems suspicious on the surface, just a vibrant mix of casual V-necks, advertisement t-shirts, polo shirts, and inexpensive business suits engaging in the polite act of meaningless small talk one feels obliged to do when confined in one space for a long time.

Except the older man in thirty-D wearing a stylish polo shirt that makes him seem paler than he really is, due to the intensely bright color with a pair of dark wash jeans even though he has been in the Texas sun. It comes into sight to her that he has not caught a tan whatsoever, not even the red mark of being burnt on his nose either, and he is making too much an effort to look normal in his overall appearance. His dark wrinkled eyes gazing around the quiet cabin, even though in contrast they are watching her incessantly looking like he is, his eyes give the impression of excitement, deviousness, heartlessness, and a persecution complex in his exaggerated by the untamed unkempt ridiculously narrowed eyebrows before averting his attention back to another point of interest. How any women can be attracted to that man or married to the man is deeply disturbing, after a cold shiver runs down her spine, and suppresses the instinctual grimace, she takes another quick sideways glance to the right. Discovering in her peripheral view that he is in fact sitting next to the friendly old woman she gave the self-help book to at the airport, who now seems to be engrossed in Dr. Phil's pearls of wisdom. Concentrating intently as she self-assesses herself against the quizzes, which are cleverly designed to make sure you were paying attention to what the great master himself has said inside each chapter, as well as to make you feel even worse about yourself.

After a few seconds, she pulls her distressed and exasperated gaze back down once more warily, watching dumbly as her heavy concrete feeling legs are lumbering past the rows of people surrounding her furtively, taking in a long, deep breath, and releasing it from her lungs slowly. Watching out of the corners of her sharp bright bloodshot suspicious eyes around the cabin as if nothing is happening, she is instantly supplied the opportunity in 'identifying and confirming thirty-D's shady friend's'. Casting intermittent glances to her right in seat twenty-four-F's direction, seeing a dark skinned, short haired, designer chic glasses, sharply dressed man in a dark blue cotton shirt raises his sleeved covered right arm, just before pressing with the ball of his hand to his forehead tapping his fingers against the thick black arms of the frames. All hunched over looking frustrated over a neat interesting stack of sensitive papers that possibly will potentially lead to their downfall, and he doesn't even bother to glance up when she walks by. It's plainly obviously he's thinking very hard about something, as if he has just been promoted from his desk job into the field, and he is trying too hard to impress his boss with his findings for the assignment report during which constantly easing in and out of a frown.

In contrast, continuing on her long grueling journey, gazing to her left in one slow effortless movement to seat twenty-three-A- the air marshal a crotchety looking old guy, his face is a mass of wrinkles, with a bad comb over who seems imposing, and it's probably been a while since he has heard a "thank you" for being a veteran. Tips his head back to down the remaining mouthful of dark colored soda left in the glass, all at once with revulsion etched on his features, obviously it is now flat and certainly awful tasting. He has a solemn appearance towards a happy couple sitting to his right, which suggests that he isn't too excited about going home to microwave dinners, and guilt over cheating on his wife, and the sadness of their divorce. Nonetheless, there is the slight obvious protuberance to the trained eye that he is someone accustomed to the weight of a service revolver like a P229R, the P99, the M1913, or the new P229HSP in his holster by the unconscious bulge of gathered material under his arms of the jacket weighing down one side of his clothing the weaker side.

Seeing that Florida is a concealment state, all hotel staff are obliged to do training in identifying patrons' are carrying weapons, and act accordingly to the imposed policy from corporate unless special circumstances permit, which is to advise them not to leave their guns in the hotel's main underground safe until they check out. Otherwise, they have the right to refuse to let them stay in the hotel; management provides them with a list of hotels that do allow guns on their property, if the customer refuses to take the kind gesture provided. Then security is called to escort them out of the property, and call the police for backup subject to arrest for criminal trespassing with a firearm, which is a third degree felony according to gun laws in Florida.

Another reason she is so adept to noticing concealed weapons is that, when she and Jackson were first with each other, they made up a game when they were a little drunk where Jackson would go around the crowded room playing 'Vigilant behavioral analyzing, while being aware of your surroundings' and 'Whose carrying, who wishes, and who can't?' Since both of them have degrees in psychology, experts in management training, and Lisa being a quick learner that then developed into, 'Look at all possible suspects' in addition to 'which gun model do you think they are carrying?' And so on, accordingly afterwards they moved into other areas of weaponry, explaining how he has to be on the lookout when entering into buildings, room, and automatically scanning the ceiling for security cameras in his line of work, while not being sure, if he would leave while your heart was still beating. Meanwhile he is methodically with dark, silent eyes judging a group of people and deciding in a split-second which one you'd kill first as there could be people trying to kill him at any moment, and he has to be ready for them from every angle, looking for a weak point from which he could attack.

Her hand trembles slightly from the probability of her predictions, and the adrenaline pumping through her muscles as she slowly holds it up over a headrest in row twenty, her fingers curling too tightly into a fist to appear truly relaxed. In the same instance, she becomes aware of herself taking a deep shaky fatiguing breath that seems to burn her lungs travelling upwards towards her nose, burning the soft tissue inside. To her surprise, her nails have dug into her palm cutting the skin evenly with a sharp engraving feeling pain, subsequently opens it again seeing the little crescent marks left, spreading her fingers like feathers before she lets it drop out of her sight.

Counting the next row twenty-two, and without warning in her already overloaded mind, another set of tears start swarming in her vision again, but are easy to blink away tickling her soft skin even as they are cascading gradually down her greasy cheeks. As her head is bowing, her intelligent green eyes are instantaneously able to thoroughly surveying the entire plane full of endless rows of passengers through her sticky eyelashes, taking heavy awkward steps on her unsteady legs. Some glance up at her from their distractions, with disgusted distaste in their expression on their features, some with a complimentary good-natured wide smile as if what happened in the bathroom was the best thing to happen all evening, and are pretending that they haven't just been staring at her.

Of all the things they could have been doing in there, do they not realize she might have been dropped on the cold floor in front of the toilet, and heaved as she threw up the meager contents of her stomach her whole body was shuddering with the force of her motions. While her valiant husband had instinctively collected her hair in his hands, holding it out of her face as she vomited, and she scooted herself close to him for comfort. When she buried her face into his warm comforting chest, Jackson meanwhile gently let go of her hair to rub her back in smooth motions, because she felt a little unwell and flying doesn't agree with her.

From the agent's point of view, she can discern that their idea of getting her to make the call is for Jackson to, violently grab her by the throat, and slammed her with brute force, remorselessly into the opposite wall, smirked evilly following close behind like a predator stalking his prey staring coldly into her eyes. At the same time, pressing against her as he squeezed his hands around her neck to strangle her to death, she could barely breathe merely yelps and gasps, and that quickly became her main priority, since he was only reacting to her traitorous behaviour, and showing her who is superior in their relationship. After that, he shook her violently for good measure, and subsequently he yanked his hands away, from her throat, which sent her crashing into the wall behind her, she dropped to the floor wheezing, and gasping as she gulped for air shrank back into the corner. Fearfully, finally aware of his strength and that he was actually capable of hurting her, Jackson leaned even closer tauntingly was pulling his fingers through his hair, he had a brief look of immense infuriation on his face, stretching an open right palm across her delicate soft and smooth face, sharp, abrupt, and stinging enough to make his point. Then with the other hand, he had her head in his hands, the fingers of one hand tangled in her hair while the palm of the other hand cupped itself against her chin he had beaten her; there was nothing more she could think of that would save everyone. Why do they always have to go physical to make people follow their orders?

Anyway, it could have also been her sitting on the toilet with her husband watching her try to pee as she did have a large drink some hours ago, while he is leaned on the doorway watching her with her hiked up her skirt and her panties pulled down. In the company of her eyes carefully on him waiting patiently, quietly, as she was urinating in his presence as she was no longer being able to hold it back while she was analyzing his every move. For the period of desperation to calm his nerves and working out what he might say, he might have joked, in a poor attempt to lighten the already dangerous apprehensive mood in the air, but already knowing what her answer would be, he resigned himself finally and spilled the beans. Which brings her to the question, is it common personal prohibitions to let Jackson clean his teeth while she's trying to pee, after being together for 9 years?

In spite of everything, she is thinking deeply as to a plan; she knows she is still doing a spectacular performance of portraying a frightened, timid, tense, and anxious woman with serious relationship issues, who is unsettled and too lost in her own thoughts her in many ways alongside quelling her anger. Which no doubt, should earn her a worthy Oscar winning, in the eyes of everybody on this plane, including those Goddamn agents attentively watching them both from the crowds.

A few more steps forward and her senses go into overdrive, and she has to put out her anxiously sweaty shaky hands to catch herself against the top of the scratchy feeling material of the headrests as the like tiny rivulets descending a journey over ridges of skin of her palms. That will leave dark handprints on the synthetic material, which will soon fade leaving no traces behind to the naked eye combined with all the other prints made on a daily basis. Unsurprisingly, only to be cleaned poorly by the cleaning crew so they can rush another load of passengers on board, and no one would know a thing about the event-taking place at this very moment.

Even as her eyes are inching sideways towards the passengers looking from person to person, without alerting them to the fact she is replicating how the spies on TV do it all the time, straining to overhearing their seemingly normal cacophony quiet conversations they are having which is mainly meaningless small talk, no-one is talking about killing anybody else. Immediately the strange cold and stickiness feeling through the air possessed her with a heavy tension and profuse dank humidity, weighing her down even further, as the material of her flimsy blouse and cardigan are significantly stifling, restrictive, and scratching her goose-pimpled skin and the hairs of her neck stand up straight. The neat stylish business skirt that normally hugs the curves of her hips so reassuringly, now seems to be constricting her movements even further as she walks, making her yearn to be free of them, as the sensation is just too suffocating right now.

Another disturbing flash of lightening illuminates the inside of the cabin like flashbulbs in the sky, through the dingy plastic inner, the thick glass outer oval windows outside is dropping from midnight blue, ash gray, homogeneous to blackness, as the window is still swallowing too much light. Due to the thrum of the engines, the cabin lights flicker slightly dimming, while the cabin concusses violently with a rolling tumble of thunder and the smattering and splattery of big, heavy drops, of rain rousing a sea of echoes from the collective groans from its sources.

For Lisa finally approaching their uncomfortable seats so it isn't far for her, she only needs to take two to three stumbled steps forwards; there is relief expression on her features, even pleasure to some degree which tingles and she relaxes her shoulders slightly. Providentially, she has had the reassuring convenience and specifics this time around to be able to recognize the passengers that are agents straight away, thanks to Jackson the world's greatest spy's clarification on identifying them for her to the best of his knowledge. She is completely acquainted, and under no real illusions that they will indisputably be contacting their assassin friends in the BMW's outside their home, threats against their own personal welfare, and the welfare of their family and loved ones. Still unable to move from the spot where her feet seem to have set roots, and anxious sweat prickling the hairline behind her ears through her she runs her hands through her hair, tugging gently.

All the while, she can feel a nameless pair of eyes gazing at her form from behind very close by, though she doesn't need to know where he is, she can feel his presence turning her expression from apprehension to bordering on dread. The warm flushing of angry red patches start to appear on Lisa's cheeks once again as the cabin losing pressure, while little shock-induced dots dance before her eyes. Those eyes they feel like they're burning through her thin clothes and penetrating right into her back, a palpable intensified force, barely contained, as if they are trying to brand deep into her skin with their frighteningly passionate wickedness and immense unadulterated irritation, and detecting the undertone assumptions of her being an inferior, vapid, empty-headed, and easily weakened persuaded woman. He feels hot to her; the same sensation one might get when running their fingertips across the flame of a candle: not quite burning, but a warning not to touch. Causing every sensation in Lisa's body to sharpen and elevate to full alert as red flags go all through her mind, making her flinch a little, she tries to blank it out, as an uncomfortable, tense, warning, and pensive expression creeps darkly across her face, while breathing shallowly.

Therefore, Lisa's head is thumping with tension again, a muscle twitching in her cheek involuntarily, finding it difficult not to turn her now pulsing neck, to look around at the source of the intruding observer grating on her last nerve. It is becoming increasingly hard to resist not letting her eyes glare at him penetratingly, as if her glare can set him on fire, overwhelmingly determined for him to go away with an almighty authoritative intensely forceful glare, which not even Jackson could withstand. Underneath the exterior of fear, suffering, melodramatic, helplessness, defenseless, pathetic, violated, and dread, her eyes defiantly say that 'no matter how weak and vulnerable I may appear I'll cut you in a minute'. Desperate to rein in an all-encompassing urge to stab them powerfully hard with all her strength using one of her daughter's novelty pens slamming the sharp, fine tip deeply in the neck, performing an amateur attempt at a tracheotomy procedure, or she could maybe hit him in the larynx that's fatal, either-way both should gain his attention. As the instructor taught her in self-defense class, on the '1001' ways to protect yourself from someone about to attack you, with just a ballpoint pen', a pen can be mightier than the sword down with him, as the instructor had pointed out, laughing at his own joke. The violence within her, is her dirty little secret the private passionate vehemence that she doesn't dare breathe a word of to anyone around her, it is just better to leave it up to action rather than words.

Shaking herself out of that reflection, and Internally frustrated and needing her personal space, to acquire cover from being so exposed unwillingly from the new adversary, she proceeds down the aisle, taking three determined steps, then another, and stops, Lisa bumped up against the side padding of the empty aisle seat Jackson was occupying.

Next out of inquisitiveness, Lisa looks up; her eyes searching the dimly lit cabin and homogeneous seated people, suddenly catching a glimpse of the right sleeve of her husband's jacket sleeve as he beings to make his way into the main body of the cabin. She can even see his watch- that ridiculously macho blue-faced Tag Rolex watch, wondering if the fine dark brown and ginger hairs on his pale wrist are standing on end the same as hers. She swallows harshly at the thought; uncertain as to how she feels for a beat too long, and cringing a bit, her expression is one-quarter numb thoughtfulness, three-quarters fear. Only hesitating for a moment though, finding herself not quite ready to sit- she quickly deliberates in her anxious burdened scheming mind as to which seat would be best, her window seat, or if she should sit in Jackson's seat leaning out so she can take the opportunity to look around. Ready to move, cautiously she squeezes her small frame between the seats, her small lean body instinctively shimmies sideways along the row of seats with her trembling legs using the patterned headrests in front of her for support, ducking her head down to avoid the overhead. Gazing down her circumspectly drowsy eyes are downcast in spite of that searching the entire seated people before her and feeling she is sticking out like a sore thumb.

The last sighting catching a glimpse of the agent in fifteen-E less than 4 feet from her, to find an olive skinned female with gorgeous long dark graceful hair tied in a high ponytail worn haphazardly. The woman is staring at the multicolored, vivid, and clear screen of the latest version of Kindles with curiosity, relaxed, and casual, as if she is reading an assignment brief, or an assignment report from one of her colleagues, or maybe online playing Sudoku taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi the airline provides. Remembering specifically Jackson mentioning to her how the government agencies are now using modern technology like iPhones and tablets in their investigations, with smart Apps that are designed especially for their needs by the computer specialists. While resting her left hand on her forehead as if she has a rather large sore lump on her forehead, therefore she naturally found she was pressing on it, or even trying to fight off the sleepiness that is overwhelming her, or she could be upset by a recent breakup with her long-term partner and still haven't got over them. She is dressed in khaki colored chinos and cream ballet pumps, dressed in a fashionably faded blue jacket with tarnished bronze buttons, and the 80's upturned cuffs with delicate blue pinstripes on cream silky material, a very casual and stylish choice that fits in nicely with the vacationer look, or the business traveler on their way home. Otherwise, by her uncomfortable persona she could be trying a complete new look to convince herself it will help her forget about her ex-boyfriend, a thing women do when they try to convince themselves that the break-up was their fault.

Yet despite everything, all of them appear as though they couldn't care less, like she doesn't exist and they are in their own little world, it's strange how harmless and ordinary they come across, considering Jackson's brief explanation. Moreover, she knows she can't take any chances, these people are trained to give the impression of being as normal as possible, wondering if maybe they're sent off by their up-tops Directors for acting lessons during assessment to blend in with other passengers on board aircrafts and public areas, relying heavily on their training. Including investigative techniques, to detect, deter, and defeat hostile acts targeting the United States, criminal terrorist behavior recognition, firearms proficiency, aircraft specific tactics, and self-defense comprising of close quarters measures to protect the public in confined areas.

Which brings a question to Lisa's meticulously questioning mind, could most of these agent's Jackson warned her about, that he has mistaken for Keefe's be from another assignments? It is probably best for them to be safe than sorry though, especially in Jackson's line of work and situations they have found themselves in tonight, when dealing with people from the government who can be double agents, moles, covert, cutouts, false flag, and what not.

Maneuvering slowly on her path sideways with the excuse-me tension in her already hunched shoulders, she can sense those eyes still watching her, a radiating stare that is burning through the cushioned cloth patterned covered chair, beyond her clothes and scorching the skin of her back. Until, she bumps her skirt-covered knee into hard plastic wall the soft fabric-feeling abrasive as though there are tiny sharp bristles scratching the skin of her knee, finally dropping her limp feeling body heavily down into the awaiting empty seat with an exhausted sigh. To her surprise, the back of Lisa's head clunks against the foam headrest and rebounds slightly, while her right half collides hard against the back of the cushioned seat, thankfully absorbed by her heavy leather handbag filled to the brim with useful items that seem to find home inside. At the same time as her lower back on her left side smashes into on the solid plastic armrest, excruciatingly impacting with kidney coordinate vigor; causing a searing pain in her hip, and she scoots as close as she can to her window reaching with both hands shakily to lock the seatbelt around her waist securely.

Afterwards she absentmindedly lifts up her right hand automatically playing with a strand of damp oily hair sticky feeling through her fingers; with numb despondently while she rubs her cold clammy left hand, roughly down the smooth fabric of her dark skirt. A little frightened and uneasy of what to expect next, she turns again fidgeting nervously, letting her green eyes stare out anxiously through the black window at the rainy night. Watching the extravagant scene-taking place outside, at the blinding lightening striking somewhere nearby and in the brief flash of light apparently making the world new again, washing away the past. In addition to her own indistinguishable reflection, waiting for her husband to parade down the aisle ready to get this party started as much as she is aching to.


	13. Chapter 13

**Authors Note:** This chapter contains sexual references, and mentions of rape, this the first time I have ever written anything like that, so I apologize in advance for how rubbish it sounds, I'm hoping the next one will be better. Furthermore, I would like to apologize if the scene seems too graphic, or upsets people, that were never my intention. Lastly I want to apologize for the length of this chapter, I kind of got carried away on this one, againwith not much conversation, I am very sorry if this appears to be boring, and it has been over a year since my last updates.

I hope you enjoy the chapter, and it isn't too boring or arduous to get through, especially with some of the politics.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 13 <strong>

From the very far dimly lit reaches of the plane, in the main body of the cabin the door slamming shut brutally loud a few seconds later, close behind him like many doors shutting at the same time, before taking a couple of steps forward in front making him cringe. Now standing quietly very still, with his face looking freshly scrubbed, his unruly hair smoothed, damp, and combed back off his forehead. Seemingly looking normal as a pausing tension tightens across his shoulders, he bows his head slightly to inspect the wet stain that was caused by the latest commotion and gravitating to the nearest gravity spot. This had incidentally turned out to be down the front of his sea green shirt, appearing as if he had been dribbling this whole time. In his right hand, he uses a scrunched up wetted and soaped ineffectively thin paper towel, scrubbing savagely at the damp line down the first four buttons on his shirt, spreading it now into a large moistened circle even as the clump is literally falling apart in his hand, and leaving tiny fragments of grubby grey on his shirt.

With a tight smile, muttering to himself quietly on how he wished he had asked Lisa for one of her wet wipes from her magical bag of infinity tricks, efficiency, and practicality, as his legs nearly start moving again. His right hand stuffs the rumpled wet tissue into his right jacket pocket, thankful it isn't drenched and seeps through the material, as he casually looks up from where he is standing sensing the older red headed airhostess standing inside the galley leaning against the counter. While the junior African American attendant unaware of his presence, is in a crouched position beside her head buried deep inside a cupboard, grabbing some plastic see through cups into her hands, stretching up, and placing them on the counter top with a small thud.

His clear blue appreciative emotional eyes connect with her warm and friendly brown eyes as he waits for the questions about the activity that has been going on, expecting a disapproving frown and pursed lips, with a firm voiced statement like 'This isn't a motel'. By being one of those by the book flight attendants, she would have gone straight to the cockpit and they would have landed somewhere else, thinking they were intentionally having some undivided attention for each other while the guy in the BMW's going to know about it gambling with their family's life.

Instead, she has a genuine wickedly mirthful smile on her tinted lips, accompanied with a mischievous wink to say 'way to go,' not saying a word, no meaningless small talk, probably because she doesn't feel like pretending that she particularly cares what they had been up to, as it is apparent they're a young couple. That's when Jackson comes to the fact based logical conclusion that seeing as, he and Lisa are wearing matching wedding bands, and it's visibly evident that both of them have been looking pretty stressed out, tense, anxious, and unhappy during the flight. That she thought a little bit of precious 'mommy and daddy time' might help them to relax, having an erotic thrill before they go home back to the realities of life, and their young children.

Effortlessly he reciprocates the Senior Flight Attendants expression, a suggestively naughty smile forming of his own on his full lips; a cheeky wink from his glowing clear blue-sky eyes and a courteous nod. 'Well, the kids aren't with us this flight, so there was time for a little fun. 'It's as they are sharing a secret between themselves, but it is still fun to play the game, realizing she's not as bad as he thought earlier tonight that says. Watching silently for several moments as the brown haired attendant turns to her left still with an amused smile and mischief in her eyes, to the trolley next to her, taking two steps around it to open a cupboard above her head. Straight away taking the hint, he turns on his leather-soled heels ready to walk down the narrow aisle back to his seat next to his wife, with his suggestive smile turning into a fully-fledged smirk. Additionally his eyes keeping the cheeky glint in them and written as plain as day, underneath detecting the subtle hint of passionate anger, coldness, psychosis, and a myriad of other feelings he has towards the bastards sitting there all so smugly, waiting for an opportunity to attack.

The cabin is dark, and most of his fellow travelers should be staring at the back of the seat in front tracing the patterns of the cloth covers with their tired eyes, asleep, reading, or murmuring to their neighbors now that the air is calm enough. He hopes ignoring the passengers around him on the plane as though he doesn't give a damn about what they think went on in that airplane bathroom between him and his wife, joining the mile high club with an assassin which had been a nonexistent reality, with their inevitable grins, and an occasional look of concern.

In the course of the planes deafening, head pounding, muscle tensing rattling as the plane jerks sideways once again, in the endless search for clean air, he is hoping the impression of boldness is helping with the illusion of grand self-indulgent smugness. Particularly with the agents who are acting as if they are ridiculous little children about the situation, taking his time to teach the difficult, easily persuaded, self-pitying, and over-dramatic Lisa Rippner a valuable lesson by sexually assaulting her. By using the virtuosity of deception, bondage, and intimidation, tools for keeping her off-balance to manipulate her into submission, and throwing her into a wall with a firm grip around her slim neck.

Because it is something, he would never do to Lisa, as the idea of sexual harassment, intimidation, violence, and abuse sickening and Jackson Rippner would not take any pleasure from it; in fact, anybody that uses sex in a violent or forced way turns his stomach, because he was always taught that women are meant to be respected. Why would anyone do something like that? Those sickening thoughts causes a wave of anger mixed in with protectiveness, and abhorrence washing over him, the fact of the matter is he is going to manage to own those emotions. Because all the swirling emotions that are burning intensely agonizingly in his chest, he's taking pleasure in the exhilarating adrenaline rush of knowing how the agents watching them have no idea that he is becoming increasingly excited about being the predator. He wants to let them know they don't own him, and the will to wish them ill, while staying patient and calm for the time being, keeping that anger focused on the people who deserve it. As he is in no doubt that, he is looking forward immensely and gratifyingly to giving them what they deserve once it is safe to do so. Relishing the idea that they all deserve a painful death, even the men outside their home will not be safe either from the devastatingly painful harm he will inflict upon them, he contemplates honestly and pitilessly to himself in vindictive merciless satisfaction. _Just try to stop me...!_

In light of this, those clean ice blue lakes of his become murky with speckles of grey emerging slowly, as well as darkening a few shades, while the pupils blacken and enlarge, whilst growing a dark supercilious devilish smile that is replacing the cocky smirk on his lips. Not giving away a hint of concern, he wonders if he has very well blown his plan before he had really started, assuming people are too tired or self-absorbed to take notice is a pretty big leap of faith. Throughout these thoughts, he refuses to dare even take another glance across the aisle behind him, at the expected obvious mysterious energy glaring intriguingly and maliciously, so he is sure that the source, a middle-aged balding man with a furrowed brow, who is an agent in the back, is wide-awake. Advisably Jackson's main intention is on reaching his seat without entertaining them, or the other passengers conscious that they may have spent a few steamy minutes together in an airplane lavatory. It makes him wonder: why would someone find something Like that so exhilarating? Who would really want to tolerate being locked into such a tiny germ breeding claustrophobic space, without worrying, they have caught some unrecognized life threatening disease on an airplane?

In contrast, his and Lisa's mission for organizing and coordinating what to do next are extremely clear: How to make the room change to suite 4080 situation entirely real, Cynthia or Seleena doing whatever Lisa says, without having to change Keefe's room. It is also important to note that Lisa is in a position to access the customer database and, more importantly, the personal trust of some of their most important guests. Because the hotel's tech support is changing their computer systems, (he's surprised they haven't outsourced the division to India or some other country they can pay less wages to save costs), so everyone in the hotel is a bit confused on how everything works.

That's why Cynthia is doing overtime this weekend to her husband's complaints, also Seleena is more likely to screw things up while honestly trying her best, so they use 'Mr Smoo' which is the international code for 'I'll take it from here' in the hotel business, and always seems to call whenever there is a problem concerning Seleena. As both he and Lisa know from his profession and Lisa's at the Lux Atlantic, they oversee _many_ employees, and know that every one of them begin their assigned jobs in different ways to get the results at the end of the day. Some of the younger employees usually dive in eagerly and quickly burn themselves out, the older ones with their significant previous experience of life and employment sometimes get it in their heads that they are already experts. Then there are some like both Cynthia and Seleena, who unfortunately let their nerves, get the better of them, asking the same questions repeatedly, losing, and forgetting codes, or become flustered with customer when they complain, and it takes them a little time to get comfortable with their roles.

Taking that on board, they can make it seem as though there's been a major plumbing issue in that room very believable, once Lisa has made the pretend call, acting in the a way she would if she knew that Keefe and his family are doomed with the silent treatment. Perhaps when the Keefe's and his team arrive at the designated ETA of 5:30, all his security pansies can do a sweep of the room to make it look like Keefe is going to be up there. Maybe even to persuade the security head to have them do a sweep of the room, letting Keefe and his family in to that room for a few minutes as if they are staying there. At the same time, if he has a plan B there is always an idea that maybe they have set up a gas explosion rigged with enough explosives to destroy the entire floor, it would be that easy, in and out in a flash; he might have wanted to add more bang, a splash, a bigger message. Whereby his genius plan will set itself off, and just like that his dishonorable undertaking will be complete, of course, this will cause even more conspiracy theories.

Consequently, the room check would be a formal special request from Lisa because they need to have the decoy for staging this coup- taking into account there's always the risk of informants ruining their plans. The security sweep will be enough to, and then the all brawns and no brains hired hit men in the yacht will think he's dead and blown apart, when they shoot that stinger missile into the hotel afterwards voila, a foiled assassination attempt by terrorists. Which was illegally transported across US borders one week prior for the assassination attempt smuggled across US borders in a container disguised as fresh seafood. Perceptive to the fact that the authorities will remind the public that a very high percentage of incoming cargo shipments are scanned both before and after they reach the US coastline, and there's a lot of cargo and not enough time to check everything.

Thankfully, they should be landing by then if the Weather God's allows this small miracle to happen, which means Lisa can call The Lux as soon as they get to the airport quickening their pace as he pulls a very traumatized and depressed Lisa along behind him. To anyone else in the airport, the couple might look like they'd just had a bad flight; perhaps fighting, while also getting themselves to a crowded place ASAP, in case someone's following them. Phoning to explain everything to the Keefe's security party as to what's going on, and advising them to have Keefe go stay at The Hilton for a while instead and he'll also double up on security, the man turning very careful- and what some might say , he might go and arrange for the family to stay with his younger brother the Congressman of Florida living in South Beach, which is another reason why Keefe has liked to stay at the Lux Atlantic a few times a year.

Concomitantly she makes her way to The Lux Atlantic, Keefe has gotten so used to his little guards prancing around for him that he probably wouldn't know what to do if he actually had to do the dirty work for himself. It has made it easier for him to play the victim well, by expecting that an entire force of men greet her with guns trained on her, and waiting for backup that an ambush will be more and more likely, most likely in the lobby. Accusing her of an attempted assassination claiming that Lisa had been behind the attack, bearing in mind a huge environmental disaster will be prevented in devastating the economy and killing at least everyone in poverty, she is technically an accomplice of a high profile offense, and a criminal herself constantly being questioned by some government agency or another. Therefore, the logical question for that would be if Lisa were really trying to kill Keefe-, why would she be trying to save him and his family, after all, the only place Lisa would get the resources for such a plan is from him and his company to pull off a plan like that.

For now, he will keep this in mind, and consult with the superbly insightful, efficient, strong, adaptable, courageous, and talented wife though who can think of 25 things to do with the kids when they are bored. As well as the 101 things, she knows how to calm Olivia, plan corporate events, as with her managerial perceptive mind she may, have a few ideas to add to this as she always does. She _knows_ the layout there, and it will be easy for her to figure out where the best hiding places are...both for Keefe and for them internally celebrating this advantage. Of course, there is the chance that this is all a trap- there is always that chance, especially with the exceptionally rich political figures holding exorbitant power, and regularly scratching each other backs. On the other hand, in these circumstances Jackson knows he and his skillful adaptable team have no choice but to take the information as valid, Keefe is in all probability relying on Lisa being a damn weak, withering idiot who will carry out his plan accordingly.

This is why the investigation came about in the first place, because his very good friends of his in the CIA already knew there were something underhanded going on, and so asked Jackson and his team to set up a small special team. Running their own op and investigations, trying to figure out, who knows what, and more importantly how many agencies are involved. Right now, he wishes he could throw the problems caused back in the government's smug faces, to show them that they can't use innocent people to cover their own problems, and it isn't just the DHS either who are pinning the blame on others. As he concludes with these thoughts, it is apparent and very possible that the federal investigators- his friends Robert Lipman and Frank Rhodes- have quietly gone along with it as well, to try in Valiant effort to keep the heat off the agency, and any other independent government agencies involved even more than ready to stand for what is right.

Moreover, back to the task in hand and the present, the phone call to Cynthia or Seleena for the room switch needs to be an adequate amount believable, for the independent handpicked vile, hateful, paranoid, psychotic cold, and hardened professional agents. Who are dangerously ready to terminate them so they won't be able to tell anyone about it, what they don't know is that they're participating in a risky mission, not very likely to succeed. Then again, they are probably enjoying the probing, the manipulation, the mind games so they can mastermind the assassination of two entire families, the part of the job where they get to delve into people's undisturbed minds and pick around, meddling with their emotions and hopefully breaking them down into even less than little balls of shriveling weakness. Nevertheless, as for Keefe – as much as the general public like to think he is a decent guy as he is portrayed by the media as a kind father, when he really isn't, but that's how modern society functions, everyone thinks their worldview is the correct one.

He and Lisa are hammered together, as it were, into a shiny new united front must do a certain amount of strategic planning together coordinating something secretly spectacular, elaborate, well organized, and relatively easy enough on a small-scale, with as little collateral damage as possible in exterminating Keefe's men with minimum possibility of severe civilian casualties. He recognizes in his sharp mind that this is the best way to accomplish a task, where the bastards would have no idea what is going on, as one tiny mistake could ruin everything in the elaborate scheme. His skills are better exploited in organizing and coordinating the events than actually carrying them out; not that he isn't well trained in the messy work of the field, but he does enjoy the feeling of exhilaration for the kill when needed, much more than that the power that controlling the events raises in him. Incidentally, they will see something in Lisa that will remind them of him, but a little more physically powerful, dangerous, a fevering passion started out of necessity, judiciousness, improvisation, and unembellished sheer strategy spending a long time trying to come up with ways to, assign the villains with their untimely comeuppance.

After all, she is like him devising an efficient plan for them and mentally preparing herself for what was to come, but he would be lying if he said he wouldn't give his left arm to find out what her plan is, especially when her "maternal instincts" kick in. Alongside trying her hardest to do things to save the lives of Keefe's family, her father and their caring, naïve, and wonderful children, who are being used as their deceitful leverage, as well as keeping both him and Lisa safe.

For the moment, he has to keep all those thoughts in his exhausted, worried, but logically strategic mind, moving forward whilst Jackson begins to strut his stuff with determination down the middle of the discolored carpeted aisle to the vibrations and humming sounds going on under his feet with a bounce to every step. Acting as though he lacks self-awareness, and doesn't seem to care what is going on around him, that he even isn't concerned with projecting an image. The mixture of the heavy, concentrated, and uncomfortably stale, with the added bonus of overused stuffy second hand air, down the passageway, in the inside he is feeling nervous as hell, but is hiding it well by striding purposefully. As well as stuffing both of his hands into the deep pockets of his jacket, his thumb, and index finger on his right hand anxiously plays with the rumpled wet tissue he stuffed into his right jacket pocket earlier.

Looming like a tall, commanding, and threatening shadow, feeling sorry for any of the agents who try to apprehend him, the flight attendants coming with their heavy awkward trolleys full of meals on trays, or passengers needing to get past to use the rest room. Because he isn't going to let them get in his way, and everybody needs to get out of his way, he muses as he's passing the rows of passengers in the main body of the cabin that is relatively quiet, apart from the odd murmurs, he can hear every so often.

Endeavoring to wipe that image from his thoughts without grimacing on the outside with a cold shudder, he swaggers as though he is some kind of fashion model on the runway, as if he's wearing this seasons expensive fashion trends in men's clothing, like he is the be-all, end-all of male sexuality. He is letting his attention wander far away enough to be consciously aware of his targets, while also letting his surroundings slip by him, pretending for all the agents watching him conscientiously. With their beady little eyes, believe that all the inferior women on this plane, especially Lisa and her actually impressive work background have been constantly thinking in their minds. "WHUFF! HAWWWTTT! I AM NOT WORTHY!" It is apparent, that while the women on this plane are in his hallowed presence, he is doing them all a world of favors simply by allowing them to bask in the glow of his glorious SEXXXAYNESS.

Therefore, with an internalized astute smirk big enough to fill the plane, proclaiming "Yeah: really classy, guys!" obviously the agents so in their minds they unbelievably think that he should consider emotional attachment to be-at best—unavoidable. Moreover, for that reason after they have been likely stuffing their heads with all sorts of Penthouse Forum details, regarding the foray inside the restroom when in their minds, he was treating Lisa to the Mile High Club for seXXXay-times as he set roughly a frightened and confused Lisa up on the tiny sink as though she weighed nothing.

Because it's pretty obvious to the corrupt malevolent doing bad guys getting their kicks from fantasizing about this, enjoying the purpose that she was meant to serve, a tool, nothing more, to be used in the machinations of men greater than he, utterly unrealistic, leering, and have a total lack of respect. Taking matters into his own hands, so to speak, essentially raping his own wife, it's pretty revolting that they would think of such things like that, which actually make them no better than the rapists themselves, and he would never consider raping a woman to get what he wants, that is a pretty low move.

The thought of it has turned him on slightly, however it isn't the image of him being a jerk or a rapist, and the words of his earlier thoughts doing that, it's the simple thought of being that close to her in such an intimate setting together, sharing in an act of completeness, physical closeness, progressive touch, emotions, trust, as well as security. Along the lines of "We've got a few minutes to kill: hey, babe, you wanna get it on...?", as they lock themselves in the shower for an equally pleasant quickie, before they go downstairs to get the girls ready for school. Of course, Lisa can want a brief or spontaneous episode of a "quickie" too as a major turn-on, and though both of them don't always get equal amounts of "bang" out of every encounter, nevertheless what is important is if both he and Lisa want to be there, and they care about each other, that's okay. Likewise, furthermore the next time they have a little quickie fun, there is the nice excuse for the one who didn't get the bang to be taken by the other for a pleasurable trip around the world. Or an entire long Sunday morning-slant-afternoon when the kids are with Grandpa Joe or Sandra their superbly magnificent, entertaining, and capable part-time nanny, an average height woman, with short dark straight pixie cut styled hair, an athletic low-mileage forty-something, whose deep-brown eyes always seems to perpetually brimming with a just as much mischievous sparkle as the twins. Knowing to go out for the length of time as mommy and daddy want some grown-up time, and coming back in the afternoon excited, unaware mommy and daddy had their own fun. Moreover, it is Lisa's favorite way, when she's just as apt to hit him in a cute sexy voice with a, "Hey, handsome, how about it...?" enjoying nothing but to gaze into each other's loving expressive eyes and fooling around, adding to the sensations with tender, affectionate, pleasurable, gentle, eloquent, and attentive succession of caresses. As he to be honest, gets just as much gratification from this too, knowing he is to enjoy long, lazy, amorous, and arousing bouts of foreplay, before they are passionately embraced in making love, as to demonstrate to each other how much they love each other.

Though he is sure the agents are considering in their tiny perverted minds, if the women passengers whose identifies and specifics he'd long since forgot – only if he had ever asked them come to think of it or if Lisa get close enough to speak to and/or touch him, _surely will ye die!_ Because he is wondering if they are confusing this over self-assurance, he's letting them all see him characterizing, from his experiences of acting from many years working undercover on top-secret missions all over the world. Therefore in rookie conduct or just plain misjudgment, fantasies of what they want him to be which is an emotionless assassinating the perfect killing machine who wants to inflict slow and drawn out revenge on Lisa because she messed him up, and made him feel things for her. These entire fixations from stupidity of misreading his general personality from the files they have on him, they're mistaking this as it is a well-known fact, that he is absolute Perfection, Personified! Do they realize that Lisa is twenty thousand times more intelligent and deadly, than they think?

Thinking of the same leering looks he receives from the mothers when he is doing the school run with his adorably bright children, his very observant twin daughters always asking why they look at him like mommy does, as he's this casual fellow whose happy go lucky attitude appeals to Lisa. All of them making the extra effort on their appearances each morning and afternoon when it comes to school drop off and pick up time, dreamily staring over those chiseled cheekbones, soft chocolate hair, and mostly those eyes of his that somehow whips them into a vivacious frenzy. The same way every woman he is exposed to, or in contact with, seems to swoon like a teenager over a cute boy in school, it's like they come to the conclusion that just because a man is naturally handsome and polite to them it mean he's flirting. Only it's embarrassing when every single one of them let out a small gasp and smiles, when their eyes meet his supposedly beautiful glacial blue eyes, as he never knows what to make of this unwanted attention. Just like the ridiculous piqué, he is getting at this very moment in time and it is troubling deep in the far reaches his brain.

Forgetting those further thoughts for the time being, he through the calm demeanor he is depicting perfectly, he begins imagining himself looking like some kind of dissipated angel looking so... innocent while being so heartless. Smartly dressed in a slim-fit button-up shirt, dark suit pants with a matching double-breasted Jacket and belt from some designer, which he wore to the funeral earlier today. As well as what he will normally wear for work, making him look most businesslike, professional as the amiable yuppie, and very attractive as Lisa has pointed out over the years, it makes him smile widely and happily inside to appreciate how he still knows how to affect her in all those tiny ways.

Pulling his left hand out of his pocket, he lifts it to run his fingers through his naturally thick and with luxuriant sheen wet chocolate brown hair making them messy, afterwards in a neat sleek movement mimicking the well-practiced fellas in those 50's TV shows. Moving his arm closer he looks down consulting at his expensive, multi-functional, polished watch on his wrist, the cobalt faced dials reading two thirty in the morning. The thought gnawing its way into his mind and very soul of wanting nothing more than to be home in Miami, sleeping comfortably in their bed without all this trouble after an hour of handling with Olivia's restlessness. Hypersensitivity to touch, visual stimuli or sound can be painful and uncomfortable, as a result this can be both distracting, stressful, anxious, and distressing for her, making the process of falling asleep very difficult. This means she cannot be able to unwind and relax; therefore, because she is unable to communicate her feelings of what is wrong, she instead has to relay this information by having a severe temper tantrum or acts in a self-harming way, or harming someone else. During these bad nights, both he and Lisa just love her hard and never let any of Livie's behavior get them down instead they continue determinedly as she squirms when she's held by them, unless she's very tired, wants to be held, or has a fever. Usually she communicates this by banging her head hard against the wall, biting, or even pinching her skin really severely, hits and scratches, and crying unaware of the pain and injuries, she has inflicted, even though she has speech therapy she still cannot communicate like a normal child and can be inconsolable for hours.

It's promptly around the time when he wakes up alone, still on his back running his hand over her side of the bed, and the room is shadow-dark with no sound from the smaller occupants of the house, no sound of running water from the bathroom, no radio, or television from elsewhere. Neither, is the door creaked open a bit with the long shadows being created in the light from the hallway, from one of the girls sneaking into the bedroom, walking to their bed, and climbing up to curl beside them on top of the duvet. Only making his way very quietly and cautiously through the house taking a second to check each of their daughters rooms, before he continues down stairs where he would find Lisa standing looking into the open refrigerator in the sterile glow from the refrigerator rocking herself back and forth. Usually during her kitchen raids for post-midnight eggs or some other snack, she is wearing her light cotton pajama pants and one of his long t-shirts, absently fingering the fabric between her collarbone and left breast, her left hand sitting instinctively on her warm flat stomach. She doesn't start when he stands beside her quietly, with her mind too far away too engrossed to notice him standing there. And her beautiful green eyes shiny with tears, surrounded by ghostly shadows created by the moonlight luminosity; he gives her the time to glance up to him whenever she's ready, as he never feels the need to pressure her. He smiles softly at her, almost sadly sometimes, and she would try to smile back, but it never comes out the way she would like it to, it seems her smiles at those times are always laced with grief and he can always see through it.

After preparing something to eat together in natural synchronicity, and eating the delicious snack of eggs with A-1 steak sauce and red peppers at three a.m., or some nights they are apt to be toasting pre-packaged waffles, or toast with jam, and either orange juice, or a fresh mug of double black diamond coffee from their K-Cup machine. Followed by settling down with blankets to watch one of their much-loved classic movies, getting close to four in the morning always re-flossing and re-brushing her teeth, before they lace their fingers together, and quietly go back to their bedroom. They shut the door silently behind them, and he leads her to their bed with a smile pulling back the covers after that they both climb into bed, and getting settled down, fully aware that she has eased closer, snuggled up with him, and laying her head against his chest, he never saying anything. While she stretches her left arm, her gentle fingers are playing tenderly with the soft fabric of one of his old concert T-shirt from over the years, as the fingers of her other hand find themselves tangled in his thick hair. He just wraps his arms around her, embracing her contentedly in his arms enjoying the warmth she is providing by her closeness holding one another in a loving embrace, catching her wonderfully sweet-smelling scent, and feeling a twinge of arousal not unlike the one he had moments ago. Nonetheless, she is constantly by this time relaxing against him, her breathing going slow, and deep tickling his skin through his t-shirt, with part of the bed's duvet across her back.

His body very much wanting to follow suit so he lets himself go still staring at the pure brilliant white textured ceiling, with little white lumps that remind him of dried royal icing, trying to find constellation-like patterns in the layout like the sticky glow stars in each of their children's rooms, and Jackson holds his breath. He can hear Emily curled up mumbling in her sleep like her mother about girlie things whilst clutching her princess Polly, whereas her other little fist is curled around her blanket snoring lightly. Meanwhile in the bedroom next to Emily's, there is a little intake of breath on the part of Millie as she stretches a bit in her bed with her mouth hanging open, her right arm and leg halfway off the bed looking as though she is about to roll off. Finally, in addition to little Olivia rocking soothingly in her swing hammock, as her closed eyes were loose and her breathing was peaceful she begins to relax again into a peaceful slumber. At the same time, laying still listening to her breathe tickle against his skin, as he brings up his arms slowly to her warm back, and uses his warmish fingers to draw small soothing circles along it gently to trace up and down her spine, careful not to jostle her. Though he recognizes that it will take time for both of them to get back to this point, he doesn't mind putting in the hard work, nor sleeping on the couch for a while either, because he doesn't want to try to lure Lisa into a false sense of security.

Subsequently, just as exhausted letting out a sigh with an equally sleepy smile, he descends into his own contented slumber embracing each other for a few hours of peaceful sleep and that, is what he really wants to do tonight to be completely out of danger, safely away with their children and his father-in-law. No politics, no work- it reminds him of the beginning of week, really.

Wishing they were waking up early nearer sunrise, enjoying the way her scent and her silky skin engulf him and feeing calm and comforted, as they disentangle themselves from the warmth of each other's bodies tousled and Lisa makeup-free. They both slowly sit up, taking the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, at the same time as she strokes his hair leisurely and affectionately with a shaky index finger, a warm smile creeping up her beautiful glowing face. Afterwards turning their heads to see their bright, excitable, and happy little girls jumping on their bed ready to start the day in uncontrollable fits of giggles, loudness, playfulness, and big mischievous grins on their faces, thinking how much he loves to hear Lisa laugh as he is watching part of his family interact. Millie being a ball of energy, shouting in what could be described by people as a 'deaf voice' because of strange speech patterns which is something she can't help, his little monkey has trouble pronouncing some sounds and words and also has something of a lisp it comes out of the mouth funny. As a result, his lively little girl tends to be somewhat monotone, nasally, slurred and drunk with some feeling or emotion to it though her expressions make up for it; it is very difficult to speak a language you've never heard cannot imitate what she has heard, and so she has a very different sound to her chirpy twin sister. Thankfully, both he and Lisa have been able to organize Millie comprehension and understanding to learn oral speech, lip reading, and learn sign language. They know for a deaf child is a process requiring years and years of intense one-on-one study with her fantastically brilliant and just as vibrant as their middle daughter speech therapist Zoe, at home and at school, although she is adept at communicating with Hearing people in other ways, she isn't ashamed of being deaf it is a huge part of his identity.

These reflections cause him to yawn tiredly also fighting to smile broadly at the image, using his right hand to cover his mouth, taking into account the feeling of the soft and smooth skin of his fingers and palm. He can feel how much the rough bristly hairs on his scruffy cheeks have grown coarser and in desperate need of shaving with his no comfort strips together with cheap multiple blades, dependable safety razor so he doesn't look like trucker Joe. He contemplates about the fabulously appetizing breakfast the girls have even planned for them later this morning, both little girls bouncing up and down on their feet, eager for their own instructions helping to cook breakfast. They will be pressing their tiny fingers on the button on the coffee machine to make fresh cups of their favourite coffee, complete with a handmade menu to peruse, stacks of pancakes, various different eggs, mountains of bacon and sausage, too. To decorate the table a large vase of freshly picked flowers from the garden they grew together, and heaps of presents, the nice plates, cups, glasses, and cutlery, he is just disappointed by the fact they won't be able to enjoy and appreciate their hard work. In the delectable meal, they have been making for them, so excited to see their mommy and daddy they rush up to them with big lope-sided smiles and fits of giggles, wrapping their little arms around their parent's necks for cuddles that always make them feel better. It is making him angry at the thought of seeing Millie and Emily with their features filled with just as much sadness, anger, as well as disappointment, and much more anxiety and dread than any little 5 year olds should ever have to comprehend in their lives. Rather than that, as Joe explains with a bright enormous smile to the girls that they are going to play hide-and-seek to surprise mommy and daddy instead believing it is a game, they are less likely to be frightened, but his twin daughters are going to distinguish that it is really to hide from the bad people.

In conjunction once the yawn has subsided, there is horrendous shaking around him with added violent bumping pulsing through, and tremendously severe earth shattering rocking of the cabin, suddenly attacking with a rolling pandemonium of thunder knocks him from the heartwarming images echoing high to the ceiling, filling the ears of passengers and flight attendants. Only to be replaced with mind numbing whining of metal, sort of like the sound an air conditioner unit makes, besides feeling as though the metal structure of the plane is about to become crush into its self, trapping them all inside the air tight container. To stabilize himself so he doesn't nearly stumble drunkenly with each step, he has to close his self-satisfied still frightened regarding eyes for a moment as to regain some composure.

Before his eyes fly, open again glancing around the startled sea of people, hearing their cries of alarm echoing throughout the cabin, all of them looking just as disorientated as he is, and revealing an increased level of panic. On top of the fact, this definitely doesn't bode well for walking as he is getting knocked off his feet slightly he tries to keep focus on staring straight ahead, a nearly impossible task, however he is able to recover easily. Continuing on his enduring journey, knowing he hasn't got far to go now, he glances of to the seats him and Lisa are occupying to see the top of her auburn hair shining in the dim light with a exhausted sigh of relief.

To his left he takes in the sounds of young and rambunctious giggling, immature gossiping scandal mongering pair of testosterone bursting college-aged kids who are sitting three rows behind them. Evidently conversing on how Mr. hot guy and the hot lady with the nice shiny hair, discussing what they think was going on obviously, the boys had been keeping track, counting the minutes maybe ten minutes later, twelve, eighteen, nearly an hour at the outside, possibly catching a muffled shout, rustling, the odd thud. He can hear them right through the nape of his neck, mainly how they think him and Lisa getting their rocks off in that bathroom the size of a maintenance closet. Well to them, what else could a man and a woman, have been doing in the bathroom of a 767 for all that time-? In all honesty, why would anybody be watching the clock, except for anyone who might have been hoping to use the lavatory?

Sounding jealous that they have never really had that much luck with the females, and how the high school jocks are always taking the women they want sulking around like brooding little brats. From experience, he knows that feeling, remembering how he had the same problem however; they should be treasuring this as a time when they could be as carefree as they want to be with no expectations, no real demands, maybe some fears and struggles with school. Except when they have matured enough and gain more confidence they will get the women they want, however those carefree days all end once you are in the real world, facing financial problems, work issues, serious relationship concerns, additionally trying to protect, nurture, and provide for a family.

As soon as he approaches his and Lisa's seats, though, aware he could probably walk straight into armrest of the seat because of the abruptly sporadic images digging through his subconscious is conveying with all the thousands of thoughts going through his mind. For a split second, he can sense that something is off; his clear eyes fall on a familiar man that catches his attention as he walks among the passengers tugging at the periphery of his vision, concomitantly the ice-cold flames light up in his eyes. A face that he hasn't seen in years, a ruthless, attractive, and disgustingly cold-blooded killer wearing a smart black button down shirt, the sleeve cuffs rolled up, with a crisp white undershirt underneath. Accompanying his whole appearance with short deliberately styled, unruly dirty-blond hair on top of his head, watching him attentively with a pair of warm brown eyes, square jaw, displaying a charming smile on his thin lips back at him never faltering. A thick with gym-muscle steroid freak muscular frame, trying to give off the impression of enormous strength and power, he probably thinks the power is radiating from him; it's also obvious he knows how handsome he is.

This is making Jackson knit his brows together in disbelief, and a pleasant yet underneath traces of uneasiness in the smile on his face that he hopes the audacious fraudulent agent cannot detect. Because the man sitting in front of him, Andrew Weisman was one of the FBI's most precious top notch talents for the longest time with an ego-stroking prestige, now because of being experienced and proficient in the art of bribery, assassinations, arbitrary, weaponry, extortion, and all manner of underhanded tactics to achieve his goals. Shady dealings in very powerful and sneaky ways and his connections to high-level crimes cover ups, being requested by people with plenty of money but no personal backbone to do extra work on the side to repay his debts according to the file, keeping Weisman's real boss and Internal Affairs from breathing down his neck in exchange for a fee.

The dignitary in question and a select few 'friends' selling their souls were asked to traffic cargo shipments in illegal smuggling rackets, orchestrating overthrows of regimes, and kill this person, or that group of people to end their careers in government. Maybe even taking it upon themselves to steal some precious items or information in addition, sells it for the right price while he was there too. The port officials would get a cut for ignoring the containers that held those weapons and shipments; he was nearly able to pay back his gambling debts because mainstreaming pays a shitty salary.

To put it accurately, he's the kind that worked with both sides and so was valuable to both sides, but shouldn't have been trusted by neither nor was he all that popular among certain circles. Fortunately, his director disavowed the little weasel when the suspicions from his agency were clarified, Jackson having connections for just about anything, talking to agencies, and his number of informants; including a wide range of independent contractors dealing in information slash consultation. Therefore, the question remains for Jackson, as he runs a hand through his hair and attempts with a lot of effort not to frown, apprehensively shifting his weight from one foot to another. What's more, he wants to sigh in exhausted exasperated frustration yet again, as a substitute he yawns and rolls his head from side to side, letting the bones in his neck give a satisfying pop. Is he just out to get me, or is this something bigger than the Keefe assignment?

Unexpectedly he gazes up at him not giving any immediate response as to his involvement, apart from smiling with distasteful contentment, while his dark eyes are glowing profoundly malevolent with passionate anticipation as they drill into his. Some would say unnerving, and yet again, he finds himself on the receiving end of his own weapon of choice, on the contrary, weighing the situation he isn't one to back out of a challenge. He wants to strangle him with his bare hands; he wants to feel his body go limp as he chokes the life out of him, wants to painfully in a nonsurgical procedure remove one of Andrew's kidneys, which makes his mind then draw on even more questions, he wishes he could ask aloud. What the hell, is he doing here? Did someone contract him on the side? So, this is what former convicted FBI types do with their spare time? Is it revenge for hurting your ego?

The last thing he heard after he got word, that he was safely locked away in maximum federal confinement under the tightest security, regrettably, he had mysteriously escaped from prison, on his way back to his cell. The useless security guards were enveloped by smoke and tear gas, when the smoke finally cleared, killed three security guards, and Weisman was missing and left no trace behind, no doubt his 'friends in high places' owed a few favors especially when those friends are with men who are millionaires many times over.

He'd risen from the dead, and isn't receiving a paycheck from the government anymore, to him conventional work of course earns you a less than desirable salary, he has associates no doubt throughout the entire world giving him interesting things to do with all his free time probably as a freelance terrorist on contract. However, Jackson is positive a man in his position, he has enough money from doing dirty dealings to live on for the rest of his life off the grid, so it's easier for him now to work freelance and crediting his offshore accounts. Somewhere in a little country where it's hot, humid, and rises to ungodly temperatures, easy women, fast cars, status, that has no extradition treaty with the USA, although that's a mere formality - if the government want you bad enough, they'll come get you… He's back in his game, back to his old tricks, and obviously, the man thinks there's nothing anybody can do about it, hence the cocky exterior and had cleverly made sure that their allies were partnered up with their traitors, which would make it easier for him to keep an eye on them. Nevertheless, since when did that matter?

Turning his seemingly emotionless gaze slightly to the side licking his dry lips, catching the sight of his beautiful delicate, auburn-haired wife, absolutely aware she is examining him in his field of vision, specifically scrutinizing his profile, restlessly drumming the fingers of her free hand on her thigh. He knows underneath all the excellent acting as though she is frightened for her life, nervous, with tear-stained cheeks intended for the outside world, it really gets the impression of fear across as she knows the importance of details, and she knows that crying will be of assistance in her role; it will make it simpler, with her whole performance. Appreciatively he distinguishes the tears are genuine and for the most part for their family and utter frustration and anger, nevertheless he can differentiate on how she is looking far from the broken countenance she is displaying; her granite-grey and jade eyes are radiant with fierceness, determination, and hopefulness, but she's keeping a calm head on her shoulders. In contrast also dissecting him in the same way with analytical, cautious, capable respect underneath the fear and anticipation she is manifesting in her features, despite the fact that her delicate frame is rocking with the motions of the plane. Even as she's turning her head slightly and a little too quietly to find the source of the intruding presence gripping her own armrest strongly until her knuckles turn white, she has lived around predators like Jackson Rippner long enough to know the damage they could do, though he silently wishes that she didn't turn around.

As she averts her eyes for a moment from his forthright stare, she's looking over her left shoulder at the seat in behind them with her mouth slightly open too morbidly curious not to look. Clearly showing how uncomfortable she is with their stance towards one another, and can tell that he is looking in her direction, shuddering slightly, but she quickly shifts her piercing gaze back at him, making him shift slightly on his feet. It's as if she can feel Andrew sitting near her not even bothering to stay discrete, causing Lisa's slender fingers to refrain from playing with her hair, to move around slowly to rub the back of her neck, as far as he can see, Mr. Weisman or whatever he is calling himself these days is being an imperiously, pretentious asshole. His wife is a damn fine shot, she's learnt how to handle a loaded gun with precision and respect, therefore if she wants to plant a .22-calibre slug into Andrew's head, she could splatter his brains all over the blue geometric designed fabric fibers of his scratchy seat cross her, and you're dead. Unquestionably, she is beautiful, brilliant, and rare, but also because she has so many facets to her personality- she can be warm to everybody, however then turn cold as hell if she needs to be, as she has been showing tonight, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" doesn't even scratch Lisa's surface.

Potentially he has much more serious consequences if failure transpires, and assessing his antisocial personality, pretentious morals, betraying even those he claims to be important for him, he's no better than a snake with no backbone whatsoever, a despicable, repulsive, murderous snitch. In addition, Jackson cannot help but wonder what he is trying perfectly to organize and plan as his next move and keeping an eye out for his reprehensible tricks, it comes surprisingly easily, probably because he doesn't really have to think about it. Aware his fellow morons, otherwise even bigger moron agents probably having to sheepishly submit everything for his approval, if not one of his own evil co-workers sticking a knife in him when he gets too nitpicky. Things could go well, but they could also go badly, but for obvious reasons he isn't going to take all of the blame for the failed Keefe job and could easily wind up dead or uncovered, it all comes down to his job, he thinks this is some kind of test of his loyalty.

Furthermore, Jackson knowing something Weisman doesn't, he is going to be making life nasty, brutish, and short for the man who is almost certainly in this with his hands in many dealings concerning this assignment the idea of Andrew of all people. Well considering, Charles Keefe is a portentous deceitful attention-seeking scumbag, it actually makes sense in a peculiar way, the fact that a disgusting greedy piece of scum is advising a scumbag on how to be an even bigger asshole at a national level.

Was he possibly presented, by means of a nice fat envelope from a top drawer and tossed to him with money, new fakes, and a package with a new phone, a shiny standard 64GB USB unit, electronics equipment, camera leads, and brand new state of the art computers, and bags of weapons. After negotiating a price for the job paying half now for commitment, slipping a downturned card across the desk printed with details for people to contact all with a big entertained smirk on Keefe's golden boy face. Knowing the USB probably contained some sort of virus or malware that would hack into his government issued laptop, a new email account Keefe's team had created for him, and his team, and passwords to certain areas of the DHS mainframe breaking protocol already. Giving Keefe full access to everything, he did online and offline, probably threatening to use the data as evidence if they should be caught, or goes completely wrong, Keefe runs the risk of being exposed could deny everything, explaining how they have been doing surveillance Andrew's criminal activities, and most likely a bigger government backlash in response to his failure.

Thoughts like these would make any other person feel overly paranoid, except for the fact that Andrew Weisman is a cocky little twisted sonuvabitch with the huge perception that he has that his magnetism and his charm and his persuasiveness. That he is so compelling enough that he can sit down with people like Keefe, and many other leaders all over the world that feel they need to cause terrorism to make their point, and get away with bloody murder. In fact, he has worked with hackers for a very long time, and been using viruses and programs like that to his benefit in all his jobs and assignments in the FBI and all of his illegal work on the side, meaning he probably has ways to counteract the virus and programs to obtain only some of the information. His team is also earning money being able to create paper and electronic documentation including identities, birth certificates, passports, green cards, and driver's licenses. They can even forge diplomas and work histories with the knowledge that they will be killing countless Americans by providing false identifications for terrorists like al Qaeda and Hezbollah it is moneymaking heaven. Who knows what kind of other criminal organizations and groups Keefe and his associates are work with to make this all happen?

In conjunction with a small team of computer specialists, he has tapping and scanning and hacking, stealing government data, and running national defense secrets out of the country to North Korea under a simple, lurid disguise of digital piracy for the promise of a substantial cut of money for retaliation. In an act of cyber terrorism as shockingly sophisticated and coordinated attack as North Korea sympathizers in order to protect national security, he doubts North Korea has the resources to orchestrate a grand-scale attack on their own. Consequently, with help from people like Andrew, the American people can then be seized and blackmailed by Iran, by the mullahs, by North Korea, Russia, around the world, and especially by crazy people.

Maybe he has even organized his lackey's interests into hacking in the Lux's computer system via secure VPN's easily untraceable, though the hotel usually has an extra layer of security that will makes hacking in an extra pain in the ass. Moreover thinking about it further, he is most apt to have rooms reserved throughout the hotel, and it's always best to minimize evidence so he will be hacking into the security cameras too. Since it's certainly going to be easy enough to tap into their network somewhat secure system directly tonight just needing the right codes, the card-key entrance pad, which is a very sophisticated system, access to the room floors is by key card only. The complicated system extends too to the computers, reservation software, telephone system, security cameras, TV systems, as well as the air-conditioning, which is, connected to the whole network mainframe. Does that mean Andrew will get past that too?

As a result stealing guest's personal details and with a considerable number of credit/debit card numbers on the sly for quick cash in hand, as well as sneakily pretend they are room service, or some other staff member and stealing valuable items. Then they will probably be selling those for a good price on the black market, the money raised given some criminal gang who use funds to traffic young girls over to the country, for sick dirty men to take advantage of the poor vulnerable girls helping funding some of the most dangerous terrorist group. To launch an attack on America, similar to September 11th and kill thousands of Americans and as Keefe is going to be a major player in this conspiracy; he will be in all probability screaming for revenge just like in 2001. How many terrorist groups are involved in this mess? Are they all working together for a greater cause, and overthrow the American government?

There is also no doubt in his mind that they plan on selling the nuclear waste, therefore nuclear Iran can make nuclear weapons, threatening the United States and the world, doing business with these institutions suspected of helping spread weapons of mass destruction and being supportive of terrorism has gotten their hands on these potential high tech long-range missiles. Because Iran is the state sponsor of terror in the world in the company of Hezbollah with fissile material, and he suspects that as soon as they heard the chink of money in large quantities, he reached for the rulebook, and threw it away long ago with his dignity, loyalty, and morals. In seeking so implacably the destruction of the country and Lux Atlantic and all that therein, he and those contemptible subordinate gofers he has in employment are moving towards something somewhat directly above and beyond the call of their professional undertaking bypassing the red tape and formality, but they definitely have a process of their own. Eventually Jackson knows the blame will be pointed towards the CIA's Department of Counter proliferation, which is responsible for tracking the movement of dangerous weapons around the globe, which will be due to some sneaky background tweaking on Andrew's crew's part and Keefe's. One of the many regulatory sections of the numerous agencies that are supposed to protect the public is protecting the people that they're supposed to be regulating, right now is just permeated by cronyism, and outright corruption.

All of a sudden removing him from his thoughts, he can sense the borderline hysterical blonde woman from before sauntering over to him; the one who'd looked like she could've eaten Jackson, with his eyes landing on his would be attacker is now face-to-face. Trying to suppress a groan and only half succeeding he cleverly disguises it by clearing his throat, while he pops his neck and tries to relax his shoulders, which is no easy feat. Considering the adrenaline that is rushing through his body at this moment he is ready for action, however through it all, only one thought comes to his mind, one that says it all and gets straight to the point. _You have got to be kidding me!_

Lamentably, without breaking eye contact, Jackson is trying not to look as if he is examining her from every angle, looking for a weak point from which he could attack, if he gets hold of her, he would do some serious physical damage, and is pretty sure someone is going to have to keep him from smashing in her face. At the same time, she's preying on him as if she's trying to execute a honey pot intelligence-gathering technique, using a combination of seduction and blackmail only with a very terrible performance, and that half-smile earlier is, likely more than anything else he has expressed, is what has led to a minor misreading on the blondes part. "Excuse me." The woman in question asks in her best disgustingly scandalous, seductive, saccharine temptress voice through a cloud of tipsiness, looking dependently at Jackson with her most preeminently wickedly devious flirtatious grin. It is tangible and pure, unadulterated lust is written as plain as day in her eyes, cutting the perceptibly passionate concentrated powerful tension in the stuffy air like a blow fan on full speed in the height of summer. He is convinced she isn't going to let him get out of her line of sight study him something that makes him feel filthy, as if there is just something with his intense blue eyes and that kind face, at the same time how he's classically handsome and simply cute, framed with his unruly dark hair. What game is she playing now? Why is she doing this predatory flirting fixation with him? Is the turbulence knocking her brains out? Well, she's not doing a very good job, now is she?

There's a momentary pause as the overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim who a little too tanned woman turns to Lisa, with her surgically enhanced features trying to form an apologizing expression for the interruption. "I'm sorry, can you help me again? Last time, I promise." The L'Oreal, and Absolut worshipping, Texas tanned, mid-forties hungry blonde woman pursues, requesting in a flirtatious tone that is actually a direct invitation with undertones of pleading sounding like she's already had three too many Cosmos, while trying to attempt to wink at him with her botoxed eyebrows struggling with the movement focused on the object of her desire. Worse still, is the fact she is adding a flash of that dreadful, a bit of dazzle wide toothy-white grin she used earlier, where if she smiles any broader this woman may strain a muscle and need immediate medical attention.

That annoying blonde woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it, with her sharp breaths and her heart pounding in her ears is waiting for him to come to the rescue as she is struggling to reach the upper compartment so he can close it for her. This woman has no business in intentionally trying to emphasize her sickening desires by seducing him, in some questionable activities, such as acting as if she is starring in her own personal porno playing in her head. There is also no doubt, she is going to try to place the palm of her free hand pressing itself to his groin, as she fondles him through his suit pants, thinking he will be giving her the most amazing kiss of her life, an exploit that someone else might find alarming or disconcerting. She simply wants to have fun, gearing up to sink her claws into him as though he is a young innocent and strapping buck who happens to cross her path, and is desperate to show her younger victim (him) that he is in need.

Despite his overwhelmingly tired, emotional, bitter, and mind-numbingly fogged up overworked mind, he can't ignore the warning bells going off like shrilling chime from one of those morning quiz shows when you get the correct answer, as in, he is seeking options, an out, an escape plan. His light blue eyes turn a few shades darker as gives her another quick glance feeling the small niggling thought from earlier resurfaces along with some fresh questions, knowing that he has seen her somewhere before, but is unable to pinpoint exactly whom she is, but no one comes to mind. He isn't by nature paranoid, or any more paranoid than the strictures of his work requires, but he is by training an assessor and manipulator of situations and people, when he is reading, he can shut off that part of himself. Even though he is aware his face is turning to unreadable, pale, and to stone, it's like closing the blinds before a window, and he can't help the suspicion that she might be an agent, or a manager of an independent agency giving a back-story of some character she made up, and being more relaxed about it. For all he knows he might be mistaking her for someone else and she could just be a simple civilian masquerading only as herself role of a drunken, giddy, cougar unless she is that good at lying, which she might well be, and explanations aren't excuses, so it is irrelevant anyway.

Albeit she is maintaining the act defectively flawless, appearing fake like some ditzy blonde-haired woman who is without a doubt being paid fifty grand by the Andrew, Keefe, or one of his fellow agents having little patience for this tourist. These dishonorable go-betweens are motivated by financial enticements to keep them under surveillance; by way of a consequence, she can pressurize, stay close, terrorize, and intimidate him confrontationally to persuade his admirable wife into phoning the hotel, only it will not involve her telling him anything fundamentally important.

As a result, the atmosphere is frozen into a silent, a wordless stance as the air has turned to an arctic environment around them, growing more, and more severely uncomfortable, during which Jackson studies her without fidgeting from the awkward taciturnity that extends between the both of them into vacuum-packed infinity and beyond. On the other hand, whatever she does do or disclose is going to be judged against a scale he usually reserves use when arbitrating any of the degenerate self-centered creatures Keefe has employed to accompany them on this plane.

* * *

><p>To be continued…<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

**Authors Note:** Sorry this is going to be another long chapter; I hope it is enjoyable for you.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter 14<strong>

Unconsciously, subliminally, from where she was sitting in a shadowy corner by the window, smoothing her hands down her dark blue fabric of skirt, nonchalantly, and seemingly not watching from a safe distance, and when she sets her deeply serious beautifully heartbroken eyes on those incredibly magnetic clear more gray than blue in them. Or maybe in an effort to make him feel as exposed as she feels as this isthe first things she notices about him, is his beautiful eyes are full of conflicting emotions, they have even lost several degrees of magnitude,yet cool and aloof. Nevertheless, oddly, very oddly enough, none of their usual charm twinkles flickering in the ice, they are also smooth and at the same time mesmerizing her, much like his personality,glowing brightly against the pale ivory of his creamy skin. All the while watching him out of the corner of her eye, to regard his profile and studying how well groomed and trim he is in his blue Armani suitsuggesting steady employment. His somewhat tall and elegant and terribly self-important tense posture of his firm and very toned, skinny, whippet-slender, and the lethal, muscular lines of his torso examining how the humidity is molding the soft cotton of his pale green shirt to the lean muscles of his upper body, and strong for his size with steely strength.

All this is coupled with his strikingly unorthodox good lookshis forehead smooth and free of hard lines, and young, even younger-looking — as if he is capable of cutting-glass high and precise, wonderful, and delicate cheekbones, complementing his wide set shocking- luminous clear blue eyes, with the purest x-ray vision. To the generous set of his mouth, the delicacy of his lips just full, enough to be sinfully lush without seeming decadent or cruel instead so female and sweet, as one of her favourite nickname for him being Mr. Mac pouty pout suggests. The masculinity of his chin, the perfection of his nose, whether these are a result of genetics, of his work, which dealt with the very fabric of reality, of something supernatural, something unearthly, or of any combination of those, he always seems to her not to be quite human or a combination that does not occur in nature. However, this has never frightened or repulsed her; actually, it's quite the contrary, the quaint tingling tales of pleasure she feels because in all honesty when she calls him an "angel," she does really means it from heart and soul.

That marvelous old chestnut, a moment of perfect suspension when there are trembles passing through her along her spine, making her smile inside herself, at the thought of seeing Jackson's natural charming smile. And she can feel the warm-heartedness as well as the tenderness combined with affection of his lightning-blue eyes looking directly _into_ her whenever he does alone makes goosebumps erupt all over her body. Not showing his eccentrically cocky smirk, or his own version of her considerate people pleaser smile he's displaying now, no she is thinking about the one that can fill a room with hope and joy, is always gentle, boyish, open, and knowing, like an innocent cheeky little boy… That's when she gives him a long, indulgent look back at the lovely shock of the beautiful sight his blue eyes, regarding him with a spark in her steely-emerald eyes when their eyes meet never leaving each other and the moment stretches, declaring how she really feels,_ I could be anywhere as long as I could look into your eyes_.

As that thought distractedly overtakes her mind with an underlying stirring in her, a sense of regret interwoven in her expression, her gray-green eyes begin to sting again, as they continue to wander her husband's face feeling exposed as well as emotionally wounding old memories, and afraid to talk… Intently following a path upwards, causing her to examine closely and relish the exceptional look of his ginger, red, and blonde speckled in his sideburns, tracing her way down to his sharp jaw. To his scruffy thick coarse early morning stubble, which she is sure will later lengthen into a patchy beard, yet she isn't staring at him, it is more as if her eyes are bathing his face in light. A million rays of light bouncing between his skin and her retinas, contact intangible but very real, as her eyes are simply doing what human eyes are meant to do, taking in details by the tiny thousands and relaying them to her brain to eventually turn them into her memories in her mind. Carefully she has to swallow hard once again to rid the lump in her throat, but the swallowing isn't helping matters, and tears threatening to cascade down her cheeks, for the lingering thoughts about amazing passionate-hearted—all compacted person in front of her, so badly wanting the magnitude of weights lift off of her entire being. Managing to stay as composed as possible as a chill runs through her, whilst trying to fill her lungs with recycled air in a heavy cleansing deep breathe, although her throat is literally feeling like coarsest stinging sandpaper. To be simply honest it is frightening her more than this whole ordeal, and she suddenly finds herself once again having difficulty as she is struggling to swallow the desperate warm air catching in the back of her throat suffocating her.

Oh how, she recognizes the fact that Jackson has managed an extra degree of flush — God, those wonderful, delicate, sharp bones- falling tonight, definitely, on the side of the angels that she feels almost like a conspirator, watching in slow motion, as in a dream and looking like her dream guy trying not to stare. To her he is her handsome dorky husband, who always manages in some way to give her those feelings of sparks, the little fluttering butterflies, or heart bubbles or whatever they are meant to be called. Even if it does sound like what a teenager feels when they have their first crush, and possibly the most intimate thing he has given her is more love in her life than she could have ever imagined possible in a mutual contentment, he has also given her their wonderful beautiful children.

Getting back to the right now, given that in all honesty he looks like he's in a really bad place, and she knows it is because Barbie is playing the airhead diva part to snag him into her sharp fake nailed French-tipped clutches just inches away. Perhaps it is Years of working behind a hotel desk had taught her the finer points of scrutinizing faces for all traces of nonverbal communication, coupled with priding herself on her ability to read people. However, the woman in question doesn't seem to notice that it appears to be getting considered as an old routine to Jackson. The thing is, things just seem to be getting funnier and funnier; he is alone around all the group of people, the dashing man he had presented her with earlier - the charm was probably just a mask, not only attractive- interesting is a much better word, it seems ill-advised to let his guard down regardless. Despite the fact that he is a man who isn't concerned with his image, can be well beyond charming without half trying, a quirk, in which people find that they want to know him more and more. Right now, he seems undecided of his opportunities of escape, confronting an enemy he's never faced before, the woman is really reflecting the charm back on for Jackson, and it's really bad she might be a terrorist-murderer-supercilious-bitch, and not just a very bored Texas housewife looks of polite expectation doing her best not to look crushed.

However, he is bright and personable, but bright and personable only gets you so far, because the way the corners of his lips on his rather tight suave but noncommittal smile but obviously not interested, his ears desperately trying to tune out the woman across from him. They are incidentally betraying him a smidgen, as they twitch slightly and then comes that glance, his frighteningly stunning eyes darting quickly to meet hers, and he gives her that glinting glance as though they are sharing some private joke, those beautiful rich pools that can pull her in and encompass her in their blue depths. Before he turns on his heels sharply like a soldier on parade, he starts heading down the narrow aisle at a safe distance behind the annoying woman, who is tottering most un-lady like in her tipsily attempts, on her significantly high heels.

With hasty, irritated movements, he swallows, not looking at the borderline overexcited, blonde-haired woman, he stretching his arms up pulling down the woman's in all probability not so weighty cumbersome clunking baggage, so he can simply take out the blonde's suitcase quickly, and immediately appears to be geared up to cram the bulky item back in the compartment above. At the same time as she is watching, absorbing every tiny moving, as she detects him turning his head slightly in her direction, despite himself, he gives her, and undoubtedly the imposing disconcerting pair of eyes behind her. This is definitely a reward he is giving them both, one of an unbeatable cautioning glare, with calculation in the movement in his wickedly cold emotionless eyes of perfectly stilled fury and of undistilled death. That tells the both of them; he'll kill her slowly and painfully if they both try anything, nevertheless underneath the disturbingly icy cold glare, she can make out the apology and total sadness by the speckles of dark blue and grey, although this causes her to flinch instinctively as she realizes the reality of what that expression really means. Only he turns his jacketed back on the ditzy woman confused face in determined mechanistic movements, commencing to head down the aisle back to his seat in swift movement, all the while panning his head automatically around the cabin.

At present, she can read his intentions, the way his Adam's apple is raising, combined with the way his engaging expressive eyes are looking wide, and as clear as they can be back at her revealing his intentions, clearing his throat, nostrils flared, trying to compose himself. That underneath just how desperate he is to get away from her evil clutches, the grid of nerves all across his back and shoulders tense with enhanced exhausted irritation based on his pained and desperate body language. Systematically by step, anticipating for an imaginary shot, a stab, a crack with a sap by the double-crossing blonde, dread continuing to build on his pale features as he waits for what's to come whether or not he has the strength to weather the looming storm.

Whilst she notices him chancing a glance in her direction, and knowing, he can see the imperturbable steely emerald eyed, noncommittal stare, the gracefulness, her customer-service face an odd sense of amusement that despite the concern in her eyes. At the same time as in actual-fact she is reading him as much as he is reading her, she is attentively observing the nervous tremor down Jackson Rippner's forearms as he's grasping urgently for one of the chair backs in front of him. With his right hand and trying, his hardest not slump against it, a part of him hoping that this will be the end of the subject, but of course, it isn't.

True to form at the last second, Jackson just in hearing range is treated to, a noticeably determined Shelia clears her throat, afterwards she expresses in an overdramatic frivolously persistent tone, as if she thinks that is what the most skilled of any woman, displaying an excellent performance would sound like. As if she is one of the old actors in the golden era sound like, only she's failing miserably, wondering how many poor souls she has used, and old movies she has watched to perfect her techniques, because she certainly didn't train as hard as they did. "You're so sweet, uh, could you wait one second?"

Taking her attention from nervously brushing imaginary crumbs from her skirt, she lifts and slowly tilts her head still playing the frightened victim, which isn't as difficult as it probably should be, and twists her head to the right to gaze away towards the window distantly. As her true self is a complicated mess of emotions too, she is silently wishing she could stretch and fall asleep, only to wake to find everything is back to normal. Watching the troubled storm clouds skies are heavy looming a dark menacing blue, and chase each other ferociously across the canopy in the shadowy ink black skies begin to blur, all the while, her red eyes are shining slightly with the tears nipping and the prickling on the row of her eyelashes. Together with a disconcerting frown, as she swallows sharply against the heavy lump protruding against her throat that has been a constant companion all night, only to never really go away, but to keep growing in the back of her throat.

Somehow, abruptly, the scrutinizing of her husband becomes all too much, by means of bringing back to the surface the emotional memories deep inside her, which has been a tremendously normal reaction on her part. With all the horrible damning most painful feelings of sheer guilt, anger, sadness, anxiety, and despair full of pain and agony creeping in again, is pervasive as she seeks to cope with this great somber and sorrowfulness that at times can interfere with daily life dying a little bit more through this agony. She just doesn't know how much longer either of them can keep up this game of avoiding their obvious mutual feelings of despondency that is lingering between them, but she does know that she has to keep strong through this mess right now. They are just going to keep fighting for both the world, their family, and undoubtedly, for each other, before they both eventually finding the solace they so desperately need, so they can find a way to solve all of their impending problems.

Slowly she brings up her right arm up as she wipes her stinging watery tearful eyes with the heels of her palms and fresh tears start to fill again, as her tired eyes are staring at the inky malevolently shadowy sky, trying to keep from making full eye contact with her companion in case the memories come back. Instead, there is a rolling of deafening thunder in the sky and lightning flashes as the storm rages with a fury outside she has to blink a couple of times, bringing herself out of her thoughts with the loud sound. Afterward a brief second of realization she averts her emotively clear lagoon colored fusion eyes reflecting the sky from the window, stealing quick sidelong glances every so often. Nonchalantly observing her surroundings, feeling her heart hammering in her throat as though she is sensing his concern and understanding as she's analyzing him again. What he is thinking, almost embarrassed, though comes to find herself oddly overtaken by the unexpected emotion of amusement at seeing him with the hungry older woman revealing her premeditated motives even if it is true and downright predictable.

Simply observing Jackson's expression, which reads as an impeccable but circumspect smile, thinking his face is a stoic professional mask with bewilderment in his features, natural behavior, and characteristics, seemingly unsure on what to call it, Lisa is mindful that her husband is tough, physically and mentally. Similarly, he is more extraordinarily, can be frighteningly domestic, patient and thoughtful than he cares to disclose especially at work, her, her father, and without any doubt their little girls who can be very challenging at times, but even the toughest material known to man, can only take so much resilience. Moreover, as a result he looks as if he has begun to fall into an awful, almost disturbed silence as she can see his mind working on something relentlessly, what this suggests is he's fuming quietly ready to fix Sheila with a death-stare that comes only a few volts short of "fatal".

On top of being absolutely stunned, coupled with a second's microscopic teeth scattering tremor in the muscle of his left cheek, which she sees and knows Jackson is aware she can see it, looking right into him, like he is always looking into her as well, and Lisa wonders how many times he has faced this exact same scenario. Only she and a select few people can see with proficient eyes - in the tiny invisible ways letting him work out the answer to becoming the calm and confident Rippner in that grateful that she knows how to handle him, even if it is more than a little unnerving to see him bouncing from persona to persona so quickly. If worst came to worst, he could at any moment have a cocktail skewer embedded in the evil Miss Cougar's carotid artery in under five seconds, it isn't as difficult as it probably should be.

Too bad, it's the same expression he had when he encountered by her strong-willed bohemian matriarch of a mother for the first time, without so to say, she isn't quite clear on the specifics on having to fire, a single shot and recalling everything she knows or thinks about him. Despite everything, from what she can piece together, she realizes that as much as he seems to be troubled, aggravated, even a little ashamed, and terrified about the whole situation. Regrettably, in ill tactics, he willingly forced himself, her, and their family into something potentially throwing his own family to the wolves thinking that he was doing the right thing, which is a clear moderately accurate description, since there's a fine, fine line. Just as she knows that, he is good at his job and what he does is important, Jackson being the team manager is technically in charge of the assignment. Snapping herself back to attention to the scene in front of her, watching as her husband is giving an impression of being in control of his body, cool, calm, one hundred percent in control, of being well trained to keep up the charade of being a normal passenger. However realistically she knows that he needs that confidence to get through the night to use and murder the people who deserve it.

At the same time, as he's persuasively trying to work on successfully dissecting his right hand from the hideous life-sized blonde-haired Barbie woman, and yes, he is definitely suspecting a trap, so the plan he is going to work with, is he has to maintain the delicate blend of observation and boredom. Simultaneously, Lisa shifts herself uncomfortably in the hard-foamed seat, to get as far to the window as she can in the constriction of her tight seatbelt, as the razor-sharp edges are biting into the fabric of her clothing, straining the waistband of her skirt, and irritating her skin underneath. Concurrently, the hairs on her arms are rising from a jolt of adrenaline, excitement, and fear brushing against the cashmere causing small amounts of static shocks, apprehensively bobbing on the balls of her feet a few times the action instigating her heels to dig even deeper into the fabric fibers of the carpet feigning to persuade herself to remain composed.

In the here-and-now, with the blonde-haired human Barbie doll leisurely, extravagantly, and awkwardly making a big show of unzipping the suitcase, in the meantime a heavy exaggerated sigh escaping Jackson's lips, he reluctantly tears his gaze away as if he doesn't dare look. Prior to quickly turning on the ball of his feet and heading quickly back down the aisle back to her seat for even more suffering he seem to move as though his limbs are in effortless motion. With no discussion between them as they make their way through the empty foyer, they finally halt as they approach the empty alcoholic smelling seat, while what she's sure about is there transpires a trace of condescension building inside with feeling tired, bewilderment, and out of place, as a consequence Jackson is offering the bobble-headed woman a death's-head smile. Whereas the woman in question is looking at him as though he is to a certain degree of an idiotic, a mouthwatering, slowwitted, comprehension-impaired man, but an idiot nonetheless who is come hell or high water establishing herself into their lives in a matter of hours. From her position, the blonde-haired ditz can do nothing for a minute or better except, emitting regard meant for him with equal but entirely dissimilar patience and, Christ help him, still displaying more than a trace of interest.

What's more, it's best to be frank let's get it out of the way, once and for all, Lisa has to attempt to suppress the fascinated half grin chuckle-and-blush knowing her dimples will be absolutely wicked, grass green eyes bright with laughter. Likewise, her face could contort into one complete shuddering wince before she can stop herself though her eyes gleam with awkwardness, as though her feet have sunk into the floor and is fusing with the carpet. Trying her best to pretend that the moment isn't happening more than anything else is, additionally she has the impression that she is looking less at him than into him. Whichever one comes first,on her ashen face with tearstains that are marking her soft cheeks produce a feeling of warmth as though they are being covered heavily with Tiger Balm. The initial expression she anticipated is definitely threatening to surface on her lips, feeling the corners of her mouth upturn perilously wearing a beneficent smile, which could fatally blow their masquerade, effectively short-circuiting her customer-service powers.

By means of composure pulling herself from directing her face away and prepare to endure the inevitable, subsequently she can inwardly snorted laughter a bit, struggling not to put her free hand over her mouth and is actually being her attitude-y, high-spirited self, into a placid, apprehensive, including restless appearance on the surface. In conjunction with her stress management capabilities Lisa decides to take the advantage of the situation, furthermore snatch a discreet opportunity to examine her husband, her gaze thoroughly searching those stunning exceptional characteristic expressive more sharpened darkly sapphire blue than usual eyes of his as his pupils grow slightly occupied with torture and agony. Hence, she can also identify just how exhausted he is, and she doubts that it was due to a lack of sleep, how his mind is probably going back and forth in his brain about everything that has happened, just as much as her mind is- her dad, their family, Keefe, and each other. Really, what is she to think?

"This is it, thank you so much, I've just got my nails shaped and polished earlier you know, so if you wouldn't mind opening this for me?" She flashes him her disgustingly tasteless decorated nails and wiggling her bony fingers, slapping on a sickeningly hungry smile as she leans in closer to him as he tries to grab her luggage once again, she notices how Barbie can barely-conceal the satisfaction of the hesitation in Jackson's eyes pulling him right back into reality.

* * *

><p><em>Is this one of those training simulations, the <em>_company's chief__ Hendon likes to plan once a week, without warning for all the agents and managers at the company?_ The intrigued strategic mind of Jackson Rippner considers resentfully from his job as a situations manager, calling him, he tries to take himself out of the scene, watch it as a disinterested third party feeling a little nauseous as well as starting to feel trapped. Poking the carpet with the front of his right shoe and drumming the fingers of his free hand against his trouser leg, his jaw muscles flexing from the strain of his vain attempt to hide how aggravated he is getting keeping his self-composure as well as filling in the awkward silence.

Over the years working for the CIA, participated in fighting in Operation Enduring Freedom, he has tolerated training, time in stress management, modifications to stop a most fatal hesitation, Basic Combat Training, running to prepare their bodies and their minds for the eventual physical and mental strain of combat, and Advanced Individual Training. On top of that there was also Fire guard where every night, at least two recruits from the platoon must be awake at any given time, patrolling their barracks area, watching for fires, cleaning the barracks, and watching for recruits attempting to leave the barracks area. Furthermore, he also had Hands-on training where the recruits are brought to a mock battlefield riddled with decommissioned tanks and other vehicles, with a class on the use of the Claymore; anti-personnel land mine is given at a location where a field is already set up with the appropriate props for the simulation. In addition to hand-to-hand combat, or Ground Fighting Technique, instructed in map reading, land navigation, and compass use, Teamwork Development Course, First aid training, training with pugil sticks, physical problem solving, gas chamber, Basic Rifle Marksmanship, Military Operations in Urban Terrain training. This is combined with One Station Unit Training, Warrant Officer Basic, and the Basic Officer Leadership Course in order to transform civilian volunteers into Soldiers who can contribute to their first units of assignment, and obviously torture endurance courses designed to make him impervious to torture both mental and physical. Together with his usual exercising consisting of yoga, weight lifting, swimming, and bouts in the gym space the is always included as part of their facilities as well as sparing with Lisa in their gym in the basement,. Because it doesn't matter how good an agent or manager may have been prior, the stakes are high, and training makes the process less than lethal. As a result, they are ready to channel some sort of violence toward those other pleased human beings who are ecstatic at having gotten the drop on an employee from one of the company's most dangerous echelons.

In his time of being a solider and an agent, he's had his fair share of beatings; shots, stabbings, knockouts, been drugged, had surgical procedures, and poisoned, nonetheless here he is, seconds away from cracking combined with deliberating the uncertainties that they are not prepared for, along with so much pressure to keep it together. Hendon during these training simulations aptly calls them 'Escape and Avoidance' always reminds their agents: It is much, much easier to _avoid_ capture than to escape once you _are_ captured, torture isn't repugnant to him, it is simply pointless. Torture, as he knows from his many contacts at the State Department confirms, is a waste of effort unless sadistic and take pleasure from it, the fact of the matter is you use a mark, or not; you let that mark live, or you kill it.

It brings these scrolling questions to his already busy mind,_ Marcus_ _their primary data-handler or intelligence analyst as he likes to call himself, why in the hell didn't you tell me about __that woman__ in your over three thousand paged dossiers? Don't tell me I missed that vital piece of information in the fucking three hour team briefing meeting we held last week?'__ Have Duncan and the geeks in Information Services acting as reconnaissance, support, and information gathering, with their pocket protectors and short sleeved shirts complete with ties, dropped the ball in not letting him know, back when they were in the planning stages of the Keefe mission? _

Maybe, he speculates as he is taking an educated guess as the idea has suddenly occurring to him, she thought she would take a late deal on one of those websites at the last minute. Hoping she could entice the last straggle of college kids like one of those Venus flytrap do with its prey, just as she is trying now with him. What else is he supposed to think? Where was the fun in that kind of altercation?

The woman making her God awful presence known to him — let's call her Patsy Stone for comedic and sanities sake- an outrageous, narcissistic, nymphomaniac, past-her-prime who drinks and smokes heavily, his future stalker- and has to stop himself from hurling the woman across the plane in annoyance. Because the mere hovering proximity of her unnerves him and scares him out of his wits, being confronted by a drunken 40-year-old advertisement for why cosmetic surgery, Botox, and collagen should be made illegal after 3 treatments. Instead he settles on deciding it might be time to adopt the 'You can't see me trick' keeping distance between themselves enough to warrant protection. Purposely she's attracting even more unwanted attention making sure that they are still well in earshot of the mostly wide-awake few people staring- some interested, and some irritated anonymous faces, but for the most part, the patrons are minding their own business.

They are dreadfully unaware that this woman is obsessed with him, she obviously thinks that he is the really, really, REALLY, hot young German model with the sculpted body to match his facial features, that models in the ad for some designer cologne of the moment. Sure, the disgusting blonde-haired woman is spending just a few minutes too long dwelling on her poisonously needle pumped up lips wrapped around the younger man's (his) not so small appendage, in his skimpy and rather tight designer briefs in front of the entire plane. On the other hand, he wants to thank Patsy for putting this thought in his head, but he wonders does she see him as some kind of James Bond, Sterling Archer, Agent 47, Sam Fisher, Jack Bauer, or even a Jason Bourne secret agent maybe? She is depicting him as taking out the bad people, saving the world from impending doom, and with the satisfaction, felt at knowing he will be completing the mission singlehandedly, while still finding the time to bed all the women along the way. Then in the end, making them all fall in love with him, and then seeing them once a month or so when he is in town completely giving him what he needs?

For a moment, he thinks how the cabin has lost some pressure, at the perfect time a miracle happens, and the older flight attendants voice over the intercom announcing the flight's for-an-additional-fee beverage service, her tone over the buzzing static interference on intercom is good-naturedly, resignedly satirical, ordering people back to their seats. Pausing as it is taking his mind far away from the ditzy out of control Barbie beside him; he frowns past her shoulder, and steals a quick stealthily peripheral glance away from plastic woman filling him with dread deftly leaning around her, to the right and the very far dimly lit reaches of the plane. As he notices, the rumbling dark blue drum of the hollow metal beverage cart bumps to a halt against the metal dividing wall with a tremendous thumping like a gong calling guests to dinner in large mansion, at the side of it the smaller flight attendant with a heavy scrawl upon her face expressing her utter contempt for moveable object. This is probably because of the dodgy wheels combined with the heaviness of the contents inside like the incompetent wheeled trolley he always seems to find at the grocery store, when he and the girls go shopping. With that perceptive thought in mind, a little frown appears on Jackson's smooth forehead as he sucks on his lower lip in thought, taking one last glance in that area of the plane still feeling a bit blindsided.

Before focusing his attention on the last row of seating in the middle of the cabin where behind them the partition wall is for the galley, there is a moment of sheer blinding, suspicious, and malicious anger, his anger reaching a point that he has not felt in years. The tension is already suffocating as he becomes aware of long running veteran special agent of the CIA, who had trained him all those years ago calling him raw talent that needed to get out in the field immediately. He remembers when he was working with Paul on his first assignment, which was to assassinate the dictator of a very small-unknown country, who was being helped and financed by a rather greedy immoral businessman. One nasty bastard, who used the tyrant for his own evil means and getting people to do what he wants, killed innocent men, women, and children. Only after gaining their trust as henchmen to higher positions within his little empire was to be poisoned by them to the point of gore, which he knows that Paul has probably slit more throats for the U.S. government than, well, a lot of people.

The very agent in question, the head manager, and someone Jackson has admired for many years throughout his illustriously successful career, for being a methodical, caring, professional, and a moralized man who does his job for the greater good, and Jackson has never thought he would become someone's bitch, nor turn to the dark side he just mentioned. With those bewildered thoughts, he scrutinizes Philip Edwin Bertram, or more precisely his pseudonym Paul Wilson's craggy old face stretching the wrinkles of his cheeks. Looking as though he is a long-term heavy smoker and that has caused them, where the person develops the characteristic set of facial changes known to doctors as smoker's face.

However, to be honest in his case it appears from his impressively large records that it is due to bad genetics, he is in fact the black sheep of the family due to being conceived during an affair his drunken gold digger mother had with a rather influential executive of a major corporation as well as a private equity advisor. So it has been said, though you really cannot rely on hearsay when it comes to society ladies and members of Senate who have probably been fed this information through Chinese Whispers. Who wanted help in attempting to influence and persuading senate to have legislation on a project very important to them to serve their own conflict of interest called, "global competition of ideas to encourage more big businesses to stay in turn, bringing a substantial return on investment."

Furthermore, just after the affair ended and the executive got his legislation, Mrs. Bertram found out she was expecting a child, and for the meantime pretending he was her husband's baby, even though their sex life was less than perfect and consisted of once every so often. Meanwhile once born, Philip was being treated differently from their other four children by his father who believed he was not his child ignored him as he grew up and had handfuls of nannies taking care of him. Therefore, feeling bitter and resentful towards his family, when he was 18 Philip decided he would branch off onto his own dark path to get attention from daddy, a well-respected Republican Senator from Baltimore, Arthur Ellison Bertram. From what he has heard, daddy dearest paid numerous people up top to give a little extra protection, feeling threatened by the indecent publicity the news would bring as he wouldn't be all that popular among certain circles. To him in what he has read about the man, and what he knows from his characters, is it also sounded like Philip's father must have been high up enough, and he in all honesty of working side by side with them man, can't imagine that he could go from the illegitimate son of someone like that, to a criminal. Besides that, the fact that having a father with such an important name it makes it very unlikely he would use it on assignments, due to Security reasons and the risks of being exposed quickly, as well as in giving the family a bad name.

Continuing his assessment of the older man objectively, he observes without making it obvious, looking maddeningly unaffected, however wanting desperately to shoot him a pointed stare with a defiant spark at his way, keeping him the center of attention without appearing too distracted to pay attention to his surroundings and covering it all up with a smile. Watching with distaste as his thin lips are pulled into an unbridled smirk, his eyes are large, and bright with inflated satisfaction at Jackson's noticeable discomfort looking back at him with anything else more than amusement now. As his gaze shifts downwards, he notices his fingers are netted into a loose pyramid, except look more as if they are in a prayer like position while he taps his fingertips together, staying low-key is top priority on assignments so then someone will notice him sitting there, because he can't risk that. Whereas the little old woman is doing exactly what he wants, which is getting lost in all his unhelpful patronizing advice that have even drawn criticism from other psychologists, as well as from some laymen. Who strongly disagree with the destructive, simplistic, and at worst, ineffective advice and methods the great Dr. Phil writes in the book as if it's not that big of a deal really. Thankful that Lisa so kindly gave it to her earlier tonight, although there is the problem with the fact that she is too unaware of the monster sitting beside her, Paul has always been a good person but now he is wondering how far he would go to succeed.

It is as if he is willing Patsy to continue her inhumane torture on her reluctant prey, merely for his own pleasurable entertainment, he is probably doing this whole mission because he wants more money for his upcoming retirement, or a nice little desk job at the office. He is then able to share the video with his fellow agents, their insipid political affairs, and the banal water cooler conversations instead of actual work. It makes Jackson wonder if he is going to film the whole ordeal for his villainous hired friends too, to watch repeatedly in captivated amusement of how The Great Jackson Rippner was suckered by a blonde bimbo like a training video to future evil agents. Unbeknown to Patsy herself, who he and Weisman have employed to be part of a system that is helping bankrupt the country by preying on the weak, with the other delusional bastards Keefe employed.

Except snapping himself abruptly out of his inner monologue with a quick shake of his head, he immediately realizes that he has been staring at the older man's wrinkled dark, age spotted hands for some time deep in thought. Subsequently he moves his significant inquiring lucent blue gaze searchingly around the obscurely muted lit cabin, with the identical placed people seated on all sides. Swiftly his roaming eyes catches a glimpse of Lisa, his eyes and handsome features conveying how disconcerted, fatigued, and regretful he is, underneath the passionate vehemence and exasperation shining through those comprehensible transparent expressive eyes.

Watching Lisa attentively who is leaning her head against the window her head bouncing against the glass registering the feeling of it against her skin; the glass probably relaying the sensation as cool, unforgiving glass, whilst tapping her fingers absently on her material covered thigh. Focusing his eyes looking at her more closely though, she's absolutely stunning giving the impression of being like some silver screen goddess, always the most beautiful creature he's ever seen, there's an underlying current underneath her deep and troubled sadness somber manifestation. He can see in his wife's eyes just how exhausted she is, and doubts that it is all due to a lack of sleep, it looks as though she has seen a ghost, and he knows it is because of his expression right now. Because it's the same frightening expression she has displayed countless times today, and an expression that has been unintentionally exhibited many times during the past 2 years due to small inadvertent reminders of what had been. Furthermore in the uncertainty, the fact a bombardment of memories that have been brought up throughout today, has magnified with everything that is happening now, which in turn is combining into an emotional spiral, consequently the more layers that need to be peeled away.

Seeing the unmistakable confusion and questioning dancing in her eyes, as if she is mostly absorbed in her little world of whirling Lisa thoughts into the world of safe locking her brain away in a box, brings everything back to the surface as to what he is unintentionally putting them through it only makes the whole thing worse. Nevertheless, the way she holds her mouth, the set of her shoulders are wracking with shudders, the perfect geometric arch of her eyebrows, she has the humor of the moment apparent on her beautiful face. In addition to, pressing her lips together sweetly, to stifle the laughter, he can also see how her cheeks are flaring in what looks like embarrassment, however are due to her trying to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place is easily predictable as she is reading their lips, as they have learnt to do over the years with Millie. Oh, yes watching her, as well as reading her, she's being resourceful and is definitely plotting something, he's certain that she has his back just as much as he has hers. She has definitely been hanging on him and Patsy's every word and action, as she does with the customers at the hotel; trying to analyze everything that comes out of their mouths in case she is an agent-, as he recognizes the behavior because he himself shares that habit.

Even though he has given her a laundry and grocery list of reasons as to why Keefe is a revolting piece of filth and deserves assassination for real, she is going to do what she feels is right, with the information she has been given at this moment in time, with no regrets. Well, maybe there are two regrets, the obvious one being she wishes that she could make none of it happened to their family; the second she might have Keefe's wife and his children's blood on her hands for the rest of her life. He knows some people are perfectly content to sit back and convince themselves that they have no choice in the matter, and the agents assigned as well as Keefe himself think Lisa should be thinking that way. Nevertheless Lisa knows it is a load of crap and there are always different solutions to problems with all of her strategizing, she is too good a person, who is more than just the sad little hotel manager.

Although the dark shadows in her eyes, which are also a bit red and watery for him to discount it as his imagination or insignificant too many times tonight floating around her like an aura, and he can feel the heat of it come off of her. Things are not all right between them, but it seems like they will not be getting time to themselves for a while, it is not going to be easy, but neither of them are going to look back. They are also both going to support each other, to make sure that they do not go back on their unspoken words to get through this mess, and everything else that is thrown at them. Jackson can only imagine what is going on inside her head- knowing it isn't that much different than his the two of them have made a silent promise to see things through to the end. Despite everything that is going on, she takes her pain and suffering and uses it to fuel her righteous anger, making Jackson conscious that Paul and Andrew may have all of their weapons; however, they are not prepared for the confrontation, they will do everything in their power to protect their precious family.

Bringing his agile mind working like a steel trap mind back to the surface, and praying that he is managing to appear neutral, knowing what Pasty is putting them through by attracting attention is the last thing he wants them to be doing right now. For all he knows, she could be medically insane for all he knows, it is also obvious that she has no remorse for her actions thinking 'I have him right where I want him'…

Because Patsy is stridently swooped down and hovering seeing that she's rifling through her bag full of clothing and accessories overdramatically, unhurriedly, and energetically for whatever it is, she is trying to find, maybe to plant a bug on him or has been recording anything to mention for a honey trap. Which he presumes is not very important or lifesaving at this point, as her long talons and gaudy gold bracelets unmistakably brought by her collection of young lovers, chink brusquely scraping along the cavernous plastic inner recesses of the suitcase every so often. Together with the earsplitting drumming sounds from some of the grotesque looking charms, filling his sensitive ears and causing Jackson to cringe with a gurning grimace, as he sucks in his teeth, sending cold shivers down his spine. Besides that to top things off taking a closer look at her hands in case she is concealing a sharp object as an improvised weapon in her palms even one you can't see, he still has to become aware of the obvious physical behaviors. It's the safest thing for him to do, is to assume he is right and approach her as carefully as possible without causing a big scene because they didn't want any lose ends, and she wouldn't come public with the truth anyway even with her obviousness.

Taking an even closer look at her aging wrinkly hands, there is an unmistakable tan line on that woman's ring finger, but she does nothing to keep from hiding it from view, it makes him wonder if she is using the divorce explanation on her powerless young victims. Alternatively, she removes the ring when Andrew or Paul asked her when they asked her to do the job, and revealed all the details of how it was going to go down. Though in Jackson's mind, it seems as though she's cheating on the lonely old man back home who probably thinks she is just visiting friends for a girls weekends, despite the fact that Jackson knows removing her ring is import to keep up the premise of disguise. However getting back to the situation in hand, she is doing this whole act with a seemingly casual air on top of amusement as though they have all the time in the world, and no reason to rush to their seats. Although he does not see what is so amusing, and he refuses to lose his composure in front of her inflicting psychological pain without a problem as though she really does seem to think that this is some kind of game and is genuinely really enjoying his undivided attention, which in turn is making him feel like a complete idiot.

After those several irritating dragged on minutes of magnificent silence, where he has had a lot of time to think other than to get away, mercilessly severed in half by Pasty standing a few inches away making his stomach drop into a pit of despair. Slowly turning his neck so he can make eye contact with her, his intense weary translucent eyes are looking at her as though she's only just appeared managing to have a hint of coldness and antipathy speaking in volumes, but obviously in a foreign language to Patsy, simultaneously fighting the feeling of his eyebrows struggling not furrow in uncomfortable disbelief. As she is crying out in a tone that suggests, what would be the odds she has just found the cure for cancer in that empty head of hers it would be a total waste of time, with the stench of cheap pungent alcohol reaching his nostrils and reminding him she's tipsy. At the same time as her near-plastic face is about to crack, in her right bony hand she is shaking forcefully, putting so much effort into being thrilled at the miraculous discovery of her laughably poor excuse of a makeup bag. In addition, since the TSA are strict on see through single zippable plastic bags of max 1000ml maximum of 1 plastic bag per passenger, the plastic resealable bag must not exceed 20cm by 20cm; the liquids include gels and lotions her shampoo, toothpaste, lipsticks, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, moist paper tissue, contact lens solution, and prescribed medicine. "I've got it!" The translation being: _'What a sucker, had I known this was so easy, I would have done it much sooner…'_ The thought being in her tiny brain is, and the obvious fact in her wide bright eyes with her dark dilated pupils are speaking volumes, that she is probably still upset by the fact a TSA officer confiscated her makeup bulging bag. Drinking herself into stupor obviously upset that they have now left her with a small remnant of what could have been a sizeable ridiculous amount she could use for every outfit she packed; which in his estimation would be the same amount a makeup artist would carry around a film set.

Besides that, she looks ready to throw herself at him, by flinging her emaciated arms around his neck hugging him squeezing tightly, and jump up and down in excitement as if she weighs as light as a feather like his daughters do. On the contrary, he is thinking she is desperately wanting him to do what he does to Lisa, and waiting for him to wrap his arms around her, his hands sliding down her back and cupping her butt. He is watching as her wide glazed eyes shining lock with his blue eyes she's come to adore, unmistakably possessing a small lustful enticement of a prayer that he has more left for her after his sexpertise escapades with Lisa. In the exhilarating hope that he would move just a little forward and capture her lips with his in an intensity that will instantly sweep her away. Interpreting this reaction 'You mustn't blame me, I'm only following orders', as she would let him take her in a tiny bathroom on an airplane, spending a few steamy minutes with him flying somewhere over the country, again he is reminded of the fact that this could be a chance to slip a hidden microphone or surveillance device on him. What in the hell, is she doing? Has she gone mad? Who does this sort of thing, especially with a married stranger?

Fearing there is going to be more excruciatingly frighteningly intentional flirting on Patsy's part ripping at a raw nerve as though she can see through to his secrets, he instantly without her even having to beg him to do so, she has been very demanding to him during the time, and It is time to man up, as it were. Using his own superbly expert initiative, he surges forwards like he is guided by an invisible force that has heard his silent longing, is leading him towards the wide-open suitcase. Which upon another quick close inspection, she has left the contents all sprawled about chaotically inside from her epic search for the overstuffed 'clown paint bag' though he doesn't think she will be wearing many of the clothes she packed anyway, since most of her time will be spent in other peoples beds. Hoping to God, his immediate actions to thwart her dastardly underhanded plans, will provide her with the much-needed presentation of how he knows how to deal with unruly customers, just like her, seeing, as it is blindingly obvious she is going to be using the nail excuse once again. Requested by Pasty with a well-practiced ease of expectation, and he isn't going to let her intimidate him any longer he considers, as he exhales deeply, and his nostrils are flaring for a few moments of tense silence.

Deciding now would be an appropriate time, as she might try to make things difficult if he doesn't get her clothes shut up in the suitcase zipper, so turned to unnecessarily busy himself with the contents of her suitcase. Arranging and neatly folding the flimsy clothing partially with renewed vigor, worried about the possibility of a pending lawsuit that may possibly be delivered when they get home.

All the while ignoring the insipid irritating woman completely, he give the last of the piece of folded clothing a small tap to keep it down, before he proceeds to reach for the sides of the case for each of the oversized zips a child could use, and fastening them towards him in a quick whizzing spurt. The sound of him hastily zipping up the suitcase closed, echoes from the thin walls of the compact cabin, before deeming it safe to continue lifting it off the seat rests and with his stretched arms securing her unwieldy clunking suitcase into the overhead compartment, tampering down the overwhelming temptation just to throw the case inside without a second thought.

The clunking noise he is making ceases inside the small space, the case now not needed, his arms are up pulling the overhead door clicked shut with all his might freedom at last, before Jackson turns to Shelia/Patsy Stone with a hospitable smile letting some charm leak through 'I'm very polite, but as you can see I'm not interested'. Complemented with the forced one he knows Lisa would give to her more annoying customers, which on the inside means something else entirely different 'I can't wait until this night is over', as a result watching Patsy's expression, there is an equally charming smile returned appreciatively by said hungry for more woman.

Satisfied with the outcome Patsy won't be bothering him anymore; he moves his body effortlessly back to the left side of the plane where Lisa and ever-growing danger lay ahead in lightning speed using his heels. Quickly he is taking another inconspicuous panoramic view of the entire plane automatically, meeting with looks of disgust, approval, some curious, and one man looking particularly livid, to the African American flight attendant serving meals and refreshments with a smile and tiredness in her eyes to the third row from the back. Along with his sharp watchful eyes picking out vantage points and quick observant watch of what the agent are doing as to determine their locations, body language, and facial expressions, being one-step ahead of them.

Still, even though the feeling of the hot and clammy air, bring on a sudden and overwhelming feeling of bone-weariness and fatigue; he is marvelously managing to look natural as he takes those all-important steps closer to his seat. Underneath the soles of his shoes however, the smooth leather feels as if it is gliding fluently against the carpeted floor, like a sheer sheet of ice instead of industrial floor- and carpet-cleaners carpet. Which makes him worried he is going to be unable to stop and sliding into a cheesed off passengers legs, adding to the strange awkwardness saturating the cumbersomely a Twilight Zone-esque musty air.

All the while, drawing his itching soft but rough hands, down bringing his dry sore hands along the fabric of his suit pants as if he is swatting dust off them, underneath his palms the cloth feels abrasive and beleaguered like it is a reminder of what trouble he has caused between him and Lisa. Alternatively, he thinks that in the eyes of one of the agents watching him intently as if he is hypnotized, he could be nervously wiping the cold sweat off the palm of his hands, scared of what they will do to him, and being the weak man Lisa has made him. Ignoring that stupid thought for now concentrating on the abrasion warming his palms, he is just thanking God; he remembered to pack his hand sanitizer in the carry on, because he never knows when it could come in hand, especially in situations like these. Aware the reassurance from the surveillance check is causing him to breathe out a small sigh of relief, letting his shoulders relax, and keeping his posture upright though he is trying hard not to show too many outward sign of how pleased he is. It continually amazes him that he and Lisa are in the position in which now they find themselves, however right now he is tired and he's attentive in the fact that Lisa feels the way he does, as in she doesn't want to play their little games at the moment.

Moving his feet as steadily as he can along the wearing, fading, and dirty carpeted walkway, in large strides he approaches the last row of seats before theirs the couple naturally moving their eyes to the passing figure walking by them, as he is in view and human nature is always curious it's a protective thing. He turns his head slightly, lips upturning slightly to give them a courteous before turning back stepping the two more steps he needs, finding himself back in relative safety of the 'safe zone' beside their seats. Turning his body forward, casually towards the overhead proceeding to reach up to grab the sanitizer from his own carry-on bag without the big theatrics Patsy Stone wannabe displayed only moments ago.

In the midst of his hands being occupied maneuvering their way dexterously and skillfully around the tiny space, his eager fingers dancing lightly along the rough scratchy bobbled fabric of the small case in the hunt of the front pocket zipper, brushing his hand against the large lump clustered in the middle of the small zipped side pocket. This contains the transparent squeezable plastic container, containing the sanctioned TSA allowance of 3.4 ounce about 100 ml for liquids and gels that his hands so need for liquid refreshment.

Meanwhile in the event of the watching agents, from his right peripheral outside the very center of his gaze recognizing the well-known structure of the metal trolleys and the forms of the flight attendants drawing ever closer to their seats without any need to focus. Afterwards in case of anything out of the ordinary, and the chance of enemy spies coming from the compartment ahead or in that proximity, he logically switches effortlessly to the other side. Where it seems that the delightful peroxide blonde has now taken the hint and in doing so has given up the hunt for now, thankfully there is also no one looking shady either, ready to inject him with poison from a Dart Frog, hidden knives, or any other forms of weapons at their disposal.

There are also the sounds of faint hushed whispering in girlish high tones as they try mimicking Patsy, which is coming from down the aisle to his right side it's hard for Jackson not to turn his head to the two young men who are trying their hardest to suppress their giggling they suddenly break out into full belly laughter. Except one of the boys quickly shushed the other one probably because they can sense Jackson responsiveness of them, and all went silent again the dark haired boy sitting in the middle sighing and yawning, he turns his attention forward again to focus on the sketch book full of doodling in front of him.

While, bringing his attention back to the seats in front of him and watching the goings on from his peripherals, he can sense Lisa's questioning eyes burning scorching holes into his stinging skin, simultaneously the powerful passionate intensity coming from her intelligent eyes. Those beautiful eyes are also full of hurt, anger, betrayal like the sharp nip of an unsheathed tip of a knife as he felt the blade sink itself into his skull, making him writhe internally.

With his right hand, fingers now groping inside the dark little front pouch, he uses the other to steady the side so not to keep clunking noisily against the think side dividers, the other hands fingers continuing their path. Lightly travelling tightly past the two side-by-sides very worn and dog-eared paperback books of he has, that have always been as if companions to him when he travelled around for assignment, brushing against the smooth leather sleeved covered iPad. Down to the far bottom of the lining, where in the far right corner lie the squeezable plastic bottle, and retrieving it with his fingers in a gripping position.

Now that he has found his prize and zipping the pouch back up again with the hand clenching the plastic container with some awkwardness as it slips slightly from the sweat oncoming sweat on his palm, he deliberately averts his gaze quickly back to the source of wrecking pain in his head, and soreness against his skin. Locking his clear skies blue eyes with the amazing beautiful woman sitting in the seat in front of him, showing exactly how she feels about him at this moment in time, most of this is using her acting skills to stay vigilant to stop the agent's suspicion of her self-assurance. Staring him intensely down to the size of a 2 inch tall man leaving much room for argument, with the ferociousness spitting fire turning the color of her eyes deep a deep green and gravelly, though he can detect the haunted sadness underneath their pretense, sure his wife uses this look discreetly on the backs of tantrum throwing customers.

While she is constantly with a little hesitantly hunched in her posture, at the same time her facial are expressed with panicky despair, though surrounding them both is an almost electrical tension in the thick air is already suffocating. Breaks the deceptive calm and peacefulness they've both managed to lull ourselves into, attentive in the fact that even though she's stunning heart-stoppingly beautiful, there's a briefly passing haunted look on Lisa's features from time to time she doesn't seem to have the energy for that smile anymore. Like an underlying sadness, crushed, and crestfallen his eyes are the only ones that can see, and tenseness ghosting its appearance every now and then, are the remnants of an increasingly painful tension headache, he is sure could turn into a migraine that feels like an axe is splitting assaulting the right side of her head asunder. Because he is sure, she is obsessing about everything Jackson had said to her, which in turn is essentially his fault from the ever-escalating dangerous situation is he currently putting her through, and he is so aching to pull the smaller woman closely to him indulging in her comforting warmth for protection once more, as he did in the bathroom.

Perceptively, every nerve ending he has got is directed towards her presence, her gaze makes his back tingle and burn all the way, with no need to look over his shoulder as he doesn't want the agents watching to know how on his toes he really is, he closes the overhead door clicked shut with both hands. Still he can feel them more than hear, and he's exhausted from the constant fear and adrenaline pumping through his body, composing himself quietly as he bring his down in front of him with bended elbows by his sides. Carefully taking the lid off the plastic tube, he starts applying enough of the clear, blue speckled moisturizing liquid to the palm of his right hand to wet the skin of his hands completely, rubbing his hands vigorously together, covering all surfaces of his hands and fingers.

The steady ordinary methodical process of repeating the action rough flesh against smooth flesh gliding slightly by cold, wet, gelatin, and gritty like texture smothered on his hands is making him remember that he has a role to play too. In conjunction with the wearisome heaviness of the situation taking place, and bearing down on him like a ton of weights, causing his head to hurt with the pressure of being physically and emotional drained. A second later, he allows his expression to slip slowly, letting a brief, regretful, affectionate, apologetic smile pass on his features his vivid blue eyes look so exhausted, repentant, earnest, with glimmers of irritation speaking volumes. Before they darken a shade, and some of the lightness from earlier leaves him, his blue eyes showing a mixture of anger and deep sadness, he manages to curl his lips into a wry grin tilting his head to the right slightly condescendingly recreating the hard exterior.

The only problem is, each and every time he is rubbing his hands together again that the lotion is not drying into the skin like it is supposed to, so they are slipping, which makes him swiftly take a quick glance down from hood lids. In his field of vision for a split second, instinctively turns his head slightly in unexpected contained self-conscious embarrassment that even takes him by surprise. He's furthermore perceptive in the way Lisa is visibly intently watching him intrigue etched in her impression with her eyebrows furrowed together deeply, her green eyes with tinges of hazel and grey blending beautifully are asking him a barrage of questions as though trying to figure out what exactly he is up to.

Truth be told, he is hesitant to play the villain the agents wants him to be, but knows he has to say something otherwise they will know something is up, this could destroy their hard work, and jeopardize their family he will end up blurting out something disgustingly evil and really make a fool of himself. Except most of all because he hates saying the things he has to his wife, and being the person he isn't to and in front of her maybe it is just his over-defensive imagination, not that she is some porcelain doll, empty and... So delicate she needs extra special care, it is just he doesn't want to treat her she like a collector's item instead of a woman, a fiery, strong, independent person isn't enough to hurt her delicate sensibilities.

Nevertheless, at the same time, Lisa would want an explanation to lay it all out for her, there are just so many answers that he's too afraid to reply and is still in some balanced state of refusing to really acknowledge it on some level it can get tense, and neither of them are really in a place for that. In some ways the details are in actual reality relevant, it isn't as though he is hiding anything from her- she'll find out soon enough if she hasn't already worked it out it is quite a big deal; really, he doesn't really have the right to get angry with her when he had freely answered her questions last night. Other than, he can't tell her yet, though the two of them are in nonaligned silence, a silence of encouragement and collaborations, filled with any luck the conversations that cannot be spoken aloud that needs to be said, with words that don't actually exist. Even as he is putting so much effort into not noticing, performing for Andrew and Paul that it seems he is making it blindingly obvious to Lisa seeing right through him that he is well aware of her expression, at least seeing how much of a mess he is at the moment.

"Don't get cute." His sticky dry mouth enunciates each word as he does when Millie is lip reading, however instead taking a raspier, more dangerous edge instead of the usual casual, harmonious, subtle, tender, natural, and baritone smoothness, while with his body language he is interpreting it with his mostly business-like demeanor. Somehow though he is managing to have that same chill, yet at the same time like cold blue fire in his clear eyes and seem to be empty and deader than the Dead Sea once again, effectively all cold and emotionless. At the same time as they are also saying with a severe dark, edge portraying the Prince of Darkness, with a trace of apprehension increasingly remorseful and worried developing a perpetual scowl that only seems to heighten the blue in his eyes. Compare that with the almost unnatural size of his moist chewed lips, making his bottom lip stick out so a bird might come, and land on it, a very weird but dangerous look indeed. Meanwhile his eyes never leaving hers like she is being x-rayed, as her dazzling tear filled tired and inquiring, completely serious hazel-green in the company of dark circles under her eyes are staring right back at him. With the steely tenacity beneath a more perilous edge of annoyed accusations, the spine-chilling darkness, and conspiratorial air, that in return he suddenly feels that cold distance growing rapidly again within his aching shivering body the actual deed chilled him to the bones. It naturally produces a sudden chain reaction of small goosebumps on his skin, as a result producing the ghosting chilliness in the small space between them along with an urgent plummeting cold sensation settles in his lower belly. Moreover, it feels as though he is stuck to the worn threadbare-carpeted floor right inside the aisle as if someone has replaced the soles of his Italian loafers with used chewing gum restraining him from making any movement at all.

* * *

><p>To be continued…<p> 


End file.
